


i was unaware you were lighting flares

by timelxrd



Series: singlemum!13 AU [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Interrupted, its smut, like girl interrupted but, okay maybe not slowburn after all, primary school AU, single mum au, slow burn if i resist for long enough, soft, thasmin, thirteenth doctor au, this is too soft i take back every word of angst, thorsair, what even is this, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxrd/pseuds/timelxrd
Summary: It’s only a ten minute walk to Littlewood Primary School, but with each passing minute, Wren’s hold on her mother’s hand grows tighter and her confident demeanour fizzles like a descending firework amidst a colourful display.





	1. flying the nest

**Author's Note:**

> THANK u to my wonderful beta @clickofthecollar !!!

“You’re allowed to take _one_ toy, okay, Rowan? Just _one,”_ Josie chides gently, slicing a sandwich into triangles and placing them in a star-dusted lunchbox while the patter of bare feet echoes in the room to her left. 

The radio blares a catchy tune, encouraging the blonde to hum along while she readies her daughter for her first day of school; the first day of the rest of her life. When a head of blonde hair peeks in from the doorway, Josie’s lips curl into a loving smile. With a daughter as bubbly and lively as herself, she can’t help but dote. “You reckon you could grab your shoes for me, love?”

“The new ones?” Rowan’s voice comes chiming in from the hallway, where the five year old roots through the shoe rack for her brand new plimsolls, dotted with rainbows and stars. She’s been trying her first school uniform on for weeks prior to today, but the shoes have been her favourite detail. 

“The new ones, of course!” Josie chimes, Rowan’s backpack slung from her shoulder. She delights in the excited squeal her confirmation earns, leaning against the doorway while her daughter struggles with her laces. She doesn’t give up until frustration chips away at her determined expression, leaving her glaring at rainbow-dusted toes as though they’ve personally offended her. 

“Need a hand?” Josie quips, already crouched at her daughter’s level. Rowan nods dejectedly, shuffling over. Two sets of tied laces later, Josie brushes a curl from green eyes, studying her features for any apprehension. “How are you feeling about today? Excited? Scared? Both?” 

“Exscared,” Rowan giggles, lines forming on the bridge of her nose when her frown melts into a grin. “I don’t want to ruin my new shoes.”

The last admission tugs at the strings keeping her heart intact inside her chest and Josie can’t stop herself from drawing her daughter into her arms for a hug. She smells like fresh laundry and graphite pencils on paper, and suddenly Josie dreads leaving her at the school for a whole six hours. Since the first time she’d felt fidgeting feet against the curve of her swollen stomach, she’s never wanted to let her out of her sight. 

She isn’t aware of the tears dampening her daughter’s deep green cardigan until Rowan pulls back a touch, tilting her head in curious confusion. “Mummy? Why are you crying?” 

“They’re happy tears, Wren. Happy tears are brilliant,” Josie beams through blurry vision, straightening up. The nickname comes easily to her, one which Rowan had chosen upon helping to nurse an injured bird back to health. “I’m just going to miss hanging out with you today, that’s all. And I _might_ be a little jealous that you get to go to school and learn and read and play all day. You’re going to love it, I promise,” she encourages, hands gesturing wildly while she talks. 

Josie slips her keys into her jacket pocket and swings open the front door. “Now, shall we get a shift on? Don’t fancy being late to your first day, do we?” she prompts, brows furrowing when her daughter suddenly disappears only to return with her favourite soft toy - a tatty baby elephant she’s had since birth. Josie quells the urge to coo at the sight.

It’s only a ten minute walk to Littlewood Primary School, but with each passing minute, Wren’s hold on her mother’s hand grows tighter and her confident demeanour fizzles like a descending firework amidst a colourful display. By the time they reach the school gates, Josie glances down to find her daughter all but stuck to her side, her fingernails giving way to the assault of teeth and lips. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t bite your nails, love. What’s wrong?” Josie sinks to her level again, knees clicking in protest. She knows what’s niggling at Rowan’s courage, but she has a strict open policy with regards to emotions. 

“I -” her nose scrunches into a frustrated, confused frown, her expressive nature making her conflict of emotions transparent. “I don’t know.”

“I think I do. Does it feel like there are lots of tiny bubbles floating right here?” Josie motions towards the blonde’s stomach, tilting her head with an empathetic smile. 

“Yes! But I can’t pop them this time,” Wren frowns, and Josie can’t tell if she’s more upset about being nervous or not being able to pop metaphoric bubbles. She sees her own traits presented in Rowan more than ever today. 

“That’s okay, Wren. It just means you’re nervous. Everyone’s nervous on their first day doing something new, even me,” Josie reassures her, reaching up to brush the same straggly curl from her eyes she often has to. 

Rowan’s features soften at the revelation, green eyes meeting hazel in hopes of comfort. They’re quick to redirect, however, sparing a glance to the imposing crowds of children now heading inside the bustling school building. 

“You know what might pop those bubbles, love?” Josie recaptures her attention, arching a brow in question. 

“What is it?” Wren quips back, gripping at her soft toy as if feeding her anxiety into the matted stuffing inside.

“Making lots of friends, right away. You’re a natural! As long as there’s a smile on your face, anyone will want to talk to you. Keep smiling until it hurts your jaw! Actually, probably not that much. They might think you’re a bit crazy,” Josie chuckles, making her pupils cross and her smile lift until she looks somewhat loopy. She earns a flurry of laughter from her daughter, who hands over the soft toy with renewed confidence. Josie tilts her head like a curious pup. “Aren’t you taking Nellie with you?”

“I’m too scared I’ll lose her,” she reveals, rocking on her toes. Josie hands over her backpack as a trade, biting into her bottom lip when a wave of emotion hits her again. She’s almost tempted to reel Wren back in and spend the day drawing and playing and causing havoc with her instead, her heart heavier than she’d expected. 

“I’ll take good care of her, I promise,” Josie hugs the small elephant to her chest, then opens her arms once more. “Group hug?”

Rowan all but jumps into her arms, squeezing with all her might. She breaks into another fit of laughter when Josie pretends to be bowled over, breathing out a soft ‘oof’. The hug doesn’t last long enough, in her opinion, but she can’t afford for her daughter to be any later than she likely already is. 

With a final kiss to her forehead, Josie pulls herself up, ushering the petite four year old in through the school’s deep blue gates. “I’ll be right here when you finish, okay? Have fun! Don’t get into _too_ much trouble! Remember your manners!” she calls after her retreating form, earning a goofy double thumbs up by way of response. Once blonde curls have disappeared from view, she hugs the toy elephant to her chest once more and breathes in its familiar scent. 

“That yours or hers?” comes a voice from beside her. She’d been too lost in her thoughts to notice the woman now tucking a cycling helmet under her arm. She looks to be in a rush, ruffling her hair until dark, loose curls tumble over her slim shoulders. Josie can’t help be a little mesmerised, lips parting and closing a few times before her brain gains coherence again. 

“Hers — it’s way too cool to be mine,” Josie responds, then immediately curses herself for being absolutely useless around women she finds intriguing. 

Luck appears to be on her side, however, when the other woman breathes a laugh, chaining up her bicycle with practised ease. She turns, then, heading for the school’s main entrance, not before glancing back over her shoulder at the blonde. “The first day is always the hardest, but she’s in good hands, I promise!”

The warm and frankly dazzling smile she flashes her upon entrance to reception has Josie’s nerves tingling and cheeks on fire, and suddenly she has another reason to be excited to return later in the day.

There are expectedly lesser crowds in Sheffield Amusements Arcade — of which Josie manages, while kids head back to school and parents return to full-time work, leaving her easily able to slip between sketching behind her desk and, regrettably, missing the presence of a three and a half foot bundle of joy. 

One particular scrawl of graphite on paper seems familiar, deep dark eyes and full lips drawing the majority of the attention. A mess of curls frame the unnamed source’s features, leaving Josie’s neck and cheeks flushing with colour when she realises gradually who her muse might actually be. 

“She’s pretty. A friend?” Ryan, her longest-standing colleague, murmurs from over her shoulder. He’s seemingly as bored as her, simply pottering about in search of something to do while their limited customers engage with the coin machines. 

“No! I mean - no, just someone I imagined. I don’t know her,” Josie chimes, far too quickly and far too nervously for Ryan to believe. “Pretty empty today, isn’t it?” 

“Smooth subject change,” he remarks smugly, but backs off the minute Josie fixes him with a murderous glare. “Yeah, it seems so. Anything need fixing? I’ll do _anything_ at this point,”

Josie’s glare turns to a mischievous grin, one eyebrow raising. “Anything? Well, the gents’ could do with a cle-” she’s interrupted by the sound of something spilling on the vinyl floors, then a particularly guilty-looking customer. A pool of chocolate milkshake seeps across blocks of black and white and Ryan hops over the counter in an instant.

“Bagsy the milkshake instead!” he calls, skidding to a halt in front of their now amused customers. Ryan turns, facing one particular customer with a charming grin. “Hi, I’m Ryan. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Ryan can all but _hear_ the way Josie rolls her eyes from across the room, slipping a hand behind his back to flash her his middle digit. 

The remainder of her shift occurs without incident, minus some awful flirting on Ryan’s part and a faulty lightbulb. The lack of customers does, at least, mean that Josie can continue with some sketching at her desk, whether it be figments of her imagination or the seagulls settling on the railings outside the window. 

That being said, when three o’clock nears, she’s bouncing on her toes, ready and waiting to see her daughter again; to spend the walk home listening to her rant and rave about her new experiences; to spend the evening catering to her wild imagination while takeaway boxes lay scattered on the kitchen counter. 

Josie arrives at the school gates with five minutes to spare, parents already lining the yard and chattering away in small groups. She recognises a few of the parents from Wren’s old playgroup, offering up a shy wave by way of greeting. 

She curses her socially awkward nature when she appears to be the only one standing on her own, but those thoughts are hastily cast aside when youngsters start spilling from the school buildings in an array of already scuffed knees and second-hand uniform jumpers too big to fit their frames. 

There’s a longer wait for Rowan’s class to be dismissed, it seems, as parents and children begin to flow through the gates in a steady stream of laughter and discussion. She hears one young boy animatedly describing how many drawings he’d done, a stack of painted paper held tight within his grasp. 

When it seems that Rowan might’ve gotten lost or might potentially be in trouble on her first day already, Josie ventures towards the small outbuilding she’d been shown on a tour the week earlier, taking a quick peek through the window. The sight catches her off guard, the woman lingering on her mind from this morning perched atop a desk while Wren speaks enthusiastically beside her. 

Toeing past the door, Josie pops her head into the classroom. She can hear the tail end of the conversation, a smile already pulling at her lips. 

“These drawings are _incredible_ , Rowan. You’re really talented,” the dark-haired woman emphasises, the warm smile engrained on her features making it unsurprising that Rowan is already growing attached. 

Josie lingers in the doorway until her daughter glances up finally, meeting her eye with a squeal of excitement. She jogs over, jumping up into welcoming arms and encouraging a chuckle from the young teacher. “Hey, you! The first day of school and you’re already staying behind?”

“Sorry, that was mainly my fault,” the other woman slips from the desk and extends a hand politely. There’s a twinkle in her eye when she takes in the sight of mother and daughter. With Rowan now perched on her hip and toying with the chain around Josie’s neck, she flits her gaze back to the teacher. “I’m Yasmin Khan. Yaz to my friends — and your daughter has some serious talent.”

“She let _me_ call her Yaz,” Wren interrupts, grinning as though she’s just revealed state secrets. 

Josie doesn’t hold back her snort of laughter, accepting the sketch Yaz offers to her with a pop of her brows. It’s a drawing of a tabby cat, playing with a ball of string, the lines a touch wobbly and the colours dancing over the lines often, but it’s easily decipherable. It’s shockingly detailed for a four year old, and Josie’s cheeks flush with pride. “She’s pretty special, yeah. She’s been begging for a cat for _ages_ , too, haven’t you, Wren?” 

The infant nods, green eyes brimming with hope. “Miss Khan likes cats too! She told me she has one just like that, so I drew it.”

“And they’re perfect,” Yaz marvels, busying herself with clearing the desks of stationary if just to distract herself from the blonde’s warm hazel eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rowan. Or is it Wren you prefer? I’m happy to call you whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

“I like Wren,” the four year old beams, settled back on the ground when she wriggles to be freed from her mother’s arms. “Like the bird!” Lifting an arm to grasp for the drawing in her mother’s hand, she jogs back over to her new teacher and hands it back. “This is for you.” 

From her position in the doorway, Josie still manages to catch the pleasant shock in Yaz’s eyes, affection blooming across her features like wildflowers in midday sun. “Thank you so much, Wren. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me in a while. It’s going right on the fridge in the staff room.”

Wren skips back to her proud mother with a satisfied smile, leading the way to the door. “See you tomorrow, Miss Khan!”

“See you tomorrow, Wren! And you, Miss Smith!” Yaz calls through from the classroom, the sound of shuffling pens and pencils filling the quiet. 

“It’s Josie, by the way! And I hope so!” the blonde counters unashamedly before she’s dragged through the school yard by a surprisingly strong four year old. 

Only once they’re on their way through the school gates does Josie’s stomach stop its gentle flips and tremors. At least she doesn’t have to register the reasons behind them again until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, ignorance is undoubtedly bliss. 

Besides, Wren’s begun babbling at break-neck speed about her day, so she’s glad for the distraction. 

“-And then we did some maths. I don’t like it,” the four year old scrunches her nose in protest, putting a touch more momentum into swinging their hands between them. 

“No one does, love. Did you make some new friends?” Josie prompts, eager to take in each and every detail of her daughter’s day as though she was there with her. 

“Lots! Clara and Bill, and then there was Rory. Oh! And Amy…” Rowan starts, the list growing until she’s out of breath but grinning, a lightness to her walk as though any previous worries about not fitting in have dissipated entirely from existence. 

“Quite a lot, then, huh? You see, I told you! You’re brilliant at making friends, Wren. Looking forward to tomorrow?” the blonde questions, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of her mind which sneers ‘ _you are, Josie’._

“Yes! Miss Khan said we’re going to do some more arts and crafts tomorrow! And she’s going to read to us again!” Wren responds gleefully, skipping forward the next few steps until she can unlock and nudge open their brilliant blue garden gate. “She’s the best teacher ever, mummy. She does different voices for each character and everything!” 

“Even the _voices_? She _must_ be brilliant,” Josie laughs, fishing her keys from her pocket and twisting one in the lock, then swinging open the door with a flourish. “Now come on, in with you! It’s takeaway night tonight, and I think you deserve to pick whatever food you like.”

With a squeal, Wren speeds through the door, leaving her rucksack and new shoes in her wake. When Josie takes a closer look and finds scuffs littering their surface, she can’t help but shake her head in amusement. 

“Rowan! You’ve scuffed your shoes!”


	2. all your little papercuts (don't cut deep enough)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait yall!!!! i can only hope you think it's worth it!!! and thank u as always to my top-notch beta @clickofthecollar !!!!
> 
> tw:homophobia

The unwelcome shrill of an alarm cuts loose the threads between Josie’s dreams, leaving tired eyes to blink against the glare of the early morning sun. She rolls over with a groan, hitting the snooze button to enjoy another five minutes of idle visuals and scenarios that her mind conjures up. 

When she next rouses, it’s to the patter of bare feet against vinyl flooring and the tell-tale creek of her bedroom door being carefully opened. She doesn’t know why her daughter is being so tentative, seeing as though in five, four, three… 

Wren climbs onto the bed and leaps onto the Josie-shaped lump curled up beneath the sheets, drawing the covers back to nonchalantly poke her cheek. “Mummy, it’s wake-up time!” 

Josie remains silent beneath the sheets, involuntarily giving Wren permission to shift her position, her feet pressing uncomfortably against her bladder. “I’m asleep!” 

Wren giggles, tugging the sheets back further. Josie snarls playfully, all teeth and no bite, reaching out to grab for her daughter and tackle her playfully into the sheets at her side. “Nope. Still too early. Night, Wren,” Josie affirms with faux seriousness, curling an arm around her daughter’s tiny frame when she flops down beside her again. She starts snoring dramatically into her hair, where she breathes in the scent of lemon and honey. 

Wren wriggles and squirms in her grasp, tiny feet kicking at Josie’s shins. “Mummy! You’re not asleep! You’re _laughing!_ ”

“No, I’m not!” Josie argues through laughter, finally sitting up when Wren scrambles free and tugs at her pyjama shirt; a weathered Biffy Clyro print hanging loosely over her petite frame. “Okay, okay. Go and get yourself dressed and I’ll fix us up some breakfast, alright?” 

Toast springs up from heated metal the minute Wren hops down the last three steps in one go, landing with a triumphant cheer. 

“Wren! Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that? You’ll hurt yourself one day,” Josie calls from the kitchen, where jam spreads over toasted bread. She eyes her daughter from her place at the bottom of the stairs, head hung in dejection — she hates being told off as much as Josie hates scolding her. “At least not without me, anyway,” she adds, just to put an end to the pouting jut of Wren’s bottom lip. 

“Do you like my socks?” The four year old giggles, wriggling her toes in mismatched material. One of the pair has rainbows embracing blue hues, the other peppered with daisies. 

“They’re funky. Is there a reason they’re odd?” Josie quips, tilting her head in intrigue. There’s a dab of jam on her fingertip which she laps off with a hum. 

Wren’s gaze flickers from her wiggling toes to her mother’s in an instant, encouraging an amused smile. “Because yours are.” 

By the time they’re on their way through the front door, they’re a few minutes late again. Josie blames it on Wren’s tiny bladder, but if she’s honest with herself, she wouldn’t mind bumping into a certain young teacher again, so she _might’ve_ taken her time over tying the laces of her beloved chestnut boots. 

“Got everything?” Josie turns to the youngster standing in the doorway, gleefully zipping up her coat — she’d learnt how to fasten the zip from knees to chin a week ago, and each time she completes her task she grins so proudly Josie can’t help but swoon with affection. The yellow material complements the bright red of her shoes in a way only Wren could pull off. 

“Checklist!” Wren retorts, glancing up at grey skies with a smile — because not even gloomy hues above can dampen her mood. 

“Lunchbox?” Josie queries, creases forming in the corners of her eyes in question. 

“Check,” Wren affirms, patting the rainbow-dusted plastic. 

“Pencils?” Josie continues, chuckling when Wren curiously feels around in her rucksack. 

“Check,” she repeats, a sigh of relief slipping past her lips. 

“Head?” Josie grins, reaching out to ruffle blonde curls. 

“Check!” Wren dodges her assault, slipping under her arm and skipping down the driveway to the path, a baby blue scooter rattling beside her. “Come on! Let’s get a shift on!” She echoes her mother’s words with a knowing grin. 

“I’m right behind you, love,” Josie slides her keys into the pocket of her blue denim dungarees, the navy top beneath emblazoned with a rainbow across her chest. On a rare day off, thanks to a recent employment drive, she’s granted the opportunity to enjoy the walk to school a little more, although she does have to keep an eye on the four-foot bundle of chaos now speeding along the pavement on her scooter. “Not too fast, Wren!”

Suitably chastised, Wren slows her efforts, plastic wheels squeaking against weathered tarmac and red pumps pushing it into action. 

“Okay, forget it — fancy a race?” Josie quips at the last corner before the school entrance, pausing Wren in her movements. “The first one to the gates gets extra ice cream later.”

“Yes!” The younger blonde is invested as soon as the mention of the sugary treat falls past her mother’s lips, squaring her shoulders and pursing her mouth into a competitive smile. Her gaze is set on the metal gates surrounded by small collections of parents and children. 

“Okay — three, two, one, go!” Josie calls, springing into a slow jog beside her daughter. Wren kicks off the pavement eagerly, her second-hand scooter sprinting towards the gates as fast as it can. 

Wren wins, of course. 

However, when the four year old approaches the last few paces towards the gates, a flash of dark green metal and weathered rubber wheels almost collides with her small form, the scene suddenly transitioning into slow motion. Josie runs forward when Wren squeaks in surprise, narrowly dodging… is that—? 

Yaz’s reaction is instant, her bicycle taking a wobbly few motions as she successfully misses the youngster, before she hits the kerb and tumbles from her perch. Pleasantly strong arms catch her before she makes any contact with the pavement, hooking under her arms and gently drawing her back to her feet. 

Josie is flushed and concerned as the young teacher turns, surprise lifting her brows. “Crap, I’m so sorry about that. It’s my fault. Couldn’t resist a quick race. Are you okay?”

Ignoring the way warmth spreads along her skin beneath the hands now pressed gently against her shoulders, Yaz simply laughs, an amused, hearty laugh. “It’s alright, really. No one’s hurt, right? Good catch, by the way,” her pupils reflect the morning sun and Josie’s lips move to allow the passing of words, but none seem to volunteer. 

The scratching of metal wheels diverts their attention — which Josie is secretly glad of if it saves her stumbling over her words. Wren glances up at her teacher with an apologetic frown, toying with the sleeve of her coat. Her eyes are earnest and empathetic, and Yaz can instantly tell her mothers genes overrule any other parental figure she may have. “I’m sorry, Miss Khan. I was trying to win a race.”

Softening, Yaz crouches to the girl’s level, instantly mourning the loss of Josie’s ghosting touch on her shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Sorry if I scared you, Wren,” she affirms, lips twitching upwards until she coaxes the same from Wren. “Seems like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other at this rate,” she teases as she straightens up, allowing Wren to slip the scooter into her mother’s care and encourage a blush to dust Josie’s cheeks. 

“Promise we’ll keep the races to a minimum,” Josie chuckles, reaching out to tousle Wren’s hair while Yaz hauls her discarded bicycle back up. When Josie moves to help her, she catches the metal brake jutting out from the back of Wren’s scooter and yelps. 

Mildly concerned by the blonde’s apparent bad luck, Yaz arches her brows and breathes a laugh. “Please be careful.”

The school bell rings to signal ten minutes before the start of the school day and Yaz glances to her watch, then to the curly blonde at her mother’s side. “Better head inside. This might be the second time this week you’ve somehow contributed to me being late. People could start conspiring.”

“Oh, I _love_ a conspiracy,” Josie grins, eyes bright. She ducks down to offer Wren a squeezing hug, double-checking she has everything she needs. “See you after school, love. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Impossible!” Wren beams, adjusting her colourful rucksack over her petite shoulders and falling into step with her teacher. Josie can hear her chattering away to the bemused woman after they’ve passed the school gates, a pleasant ache warming her chest. The toddler isn’t usually so quick to adapt to a new person, so the fashion in which Wren now talks so freely to Yaz makes her brain fizzle with theories. 

Such theories occupy her thoughts throughout the day — she almost wishes she didn’t have a day off work because then at least she’d have _something_ to distract her racing mind. By mid-morning, there’s a paintbrush in her hand and three canvases completed at her side — whatever it is that’s triggered her muse back into action is a blessing. Yellow wellingtons splash through puddles of blue in the largest of her creations, watercolours drying the memory into place. Wren takes up the centrepiece for the majority of her work, allowing past memories to cement themselves on the cotton wound around wood panels. 

Josie is observing a robin perched on her windowsill, pencil in hand and graphite mid-sketch when her phone buzzes to life at the other end of the open-planned room. Presuming it must be work, she idly makes her way over and lifts the device to her ear, turning to lean against the kitchen counter and pick the paint from her nails with her free hand. As soon as she accepts the call, she gives an amused chuckle. “Ryan, if you’re ringing to tell me you’ve locked yourself in the toilet _again_ , I swear I’ll just leave you there.”

“Uh — this is Miss Khan,” a familiar voice murmurs through the speaker and Josie cringes. “It’s Yaz,” the voice comes again, this time in a whisper. “There’s been an incident with Wren during the break. Are you free to come in?” her voice is calm, so Josie’s initial worries lessen somewhat. She’s still jostled, though, carding her fingers through her hair, streaks of blue moulding into blonde locks. 

“Of course, yes. I’ll be right there. Is she okay? What happened?” Josie queries, concern painting her lips into a wavering line. “Is she hurt?”

“No, no. She’s not hurt, she’s just very upset. I’ve taken her out of class and into the staff room, it’s the third door on the right when you head into the main entrance. I’ll explain more once you’re here. There’s no rush — my assistant has taken over the lesson and I’m here with her, so take your time,” Yaz reassures her, Wren’s sniffling echoing through the line. 

“I’m on my way, can you tell her I’ll be there as soon as possible?” Josie retorts, her chest aching with a different kind of emotion this time around. Possessive, maternal instincts send her feet out the door in a flash, and she’s suddenly grateful she lives so near to the school. 

* * *

“I’m here for Rowan? Rowan Smith. She’s in Miss Khan’s class,” Josie informs the receptionist upon entrance, rubbing the back of her neck with her fingertips to lessen the tension there. When Yaz pops her head around the door to her right, however, she relaxes somewhat. 

“She’s with me,” the teacher says, nodding her head towards the open door behind her. Josie doesn’t have to be told twice, jogging into the room with a grateful smile to the younger woman. 

Wren is sat atop a comfy looking sofa when Josie heads over, a box of custard creams at her side. Considering the container is very much still full, Josie can tell there’s something niggling at her daughter’s gut and turning her stomach. “Hey! I’m here. What’s happened, sweetie?”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Wren slips from the couch and lifts her arms, welcome comfort enveloping her form. Josie draws her against her chest and Wren can immediately feel her heart racing beneath her paint-splattered t-shirt, quick but warm and whole. Her world suddenly feels a little less scary, a little warmer, a little safer. “Mum,” Wren starts, bottom lip jutting and wobbling and fighting for strength while salty tracks regain traffic. She moulds back against her form to quell her tears against her shoulder, dampening the material of her t-shirt. 

It's only when quiet sobs melt into soft sniffles and hiccups that Wren pulls back, resting her head against defined collarbones and toying with her sleeve. Josie’s heart breaks at the sight, at the sensation of helplessness that clenches tight around her form, at the knowledge someone or something could have upset her so. She’s a strong character; it’s hard to see her so vulnerable and downtrodden. 

“What happened, Wren? What’s gotten you so upset?” Josie murmurs, appreciating the quiet patience Yaz offers. She perches down on the couch, shifting Wren into her lap. The youngster curls up there, reaching out to grasp the chrome buttons of Josie’s dungarees. 

When she remains quiet and thoughtful as if gathering her memories and assuaging their order, Yaz breaks the quiet. “Apparently another child in the class had asked Wren some personal questions and made some hurtful comments about her family environment,” she gently informs the worried mother, the look in her dark eyes confirming Josie’s suspicions instantly. She’s trying her hardest to remain professional, Josie notes, but hurt paints her features like red wine on a brilliant white carpet. 

“What did they say?” Josie probes lightly, the answer already predicted and filed away in her brain. 

“He said that having two mummies is impossible, that I must have a dad. That a woman and a woman can’t be mummies. There has to be a man — a dad. He told me you were sick, mummy. What did he mean? Are you ill? Do you have chickenpox, mummy?” Wren tilts her head, genuine worry squinting her eyes and pulling at her lips. Her green eyes are glossy still, shining with unshed tears. 

Josie hears the dark-haired woman now leant against the counter opposite her shift, giving a faint sniff. At least she’s not the only one fed up with such attitudes; silent reassurance radiates from the young teacher, but she can also tell she’s frustrated with the context behind Wren’s words. It’s a comfort to the blonde, who metally seethes at the uneducated child whose words have her daughter so torn up.

“I’m fine, sweetie. No chickenpox,” Josie sighs gently, brushing Wren’s messy fringe from her reddened eyes. “He means something else, babe, but you’ll understand better when you’re older. All you need to know now is that he’s wrong — he’s obviously been taught wrong by his parents. It happens a lot, that,” she continues, Wren’s attention grasped and held by her words. 

“Why did he say it then? If it’s wrong?” Wren questions, nose scrunched, dimples ever-present on her chubby cheeks. 

Yaz interrupts gently, twisting the decorative ring hugging the index finger on her right hand. “Maybe he’s been taught beliefs and ideas differently to you, Wren, or perhaps he’s just mean. People can be like that, honey. Either way, I’ll be having a word with him. Might even have to bring his parents in for a chat. You shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of grief, Wren. Especially with how happy you seem here otherwise,” she adds, gaze flickering between the youngster and her mother at the mention of intervention. “Your best bet right now is to stay away from him, okay? I’ll keep an eye on you both during break, too, if you like? In case it happens again?”

“Yes please,” Wren murmurs politely, nodding her head. Goosebumps dot her flesh at the mere thought of another interaction with the boy, making her curl closer to her mother. She glances up at the blonde, eyes welling once more. “Can I go home? I want to go home.”

Josie presses a kiss to her daughter’s hairline, secure arms offering a comforting squeeze. “Are you sure, love?” she probes, Wren’s following nod encouraging her gaze to navigate back to Yaz. “Would that be okay? She’ll be in tomorrow, I promise,”

“It might be for the best, yes. I think an afternoon with your mum will make you feel a little better than being here right now, don’t you think?” Yaz reassures them both, straightening up and tucking her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “I’ll have a chat with the headmaster and let her know what’s happened, but you’re free to go, of course,” she leads the way to the door, features aflush with affection for the little family she’s grown slightly attached to. No one could blame her — Wren is a ball of curious excitement and willingness to learn, and Josie? — she still has splashes of blue paint in her hair and on her weathered t-shirt, with eyes so open she thinks she might get lost in them. It’s not surprising Yaz finds her so captivating. “I’ll save any work we do in class and I can catch you up with it tomorrow, okay?” she informs Wren, who’s now perched on her mother’s hip, feet dangling, biting down on her sleeve. For the first time since meeting her, she’s quiet and reserved. “Come on, I’ll see you out.”

Josie follows the teacher back through reception, re-adjusting her daughter’s position on her hip — she’s a little too old and a little heavy to be wanting to be carried around for a while, but she’s had a tough day, so the ache in her side is worth it. She’s still quietly seething over the events of today, jaw clenching and heart brimming with protectiveness when she imagines the scenario. She’s grateful that Yaz seems to be on the same page, though, if the disappointment in her expression a mere few minutes ago was anything to go by. “Thank you for all of this, by the way. Thank you for taking care of her,” she praises at the school gates, rocking on her toes when she offers Yaz a grateful smile. 

“It’s my job,” she shrugs modestly, toying with the lanyard around her neck as though she’s suddenly made her shy. “Enjoy the rest of your day, both of you. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early,” she returns to her professional demeanour as a way to regain her confidence, and Josie smiles knowingly, fingers itching to paint the laughter lines gracing her features, then, perhaps, the curve of her jaw, her full lips, the gold dusting her pupils. “I hope you’re feeling a little more yourself tomorrow, Wren. You did really great by coming to me as soon as you did and I’m _always_ here to talk to, but you already know that,” she adds, leaving Josie to rewind and fill in the gaps. There’s a hint of pink to Yaz’s cheeks so it’s obvious she’d caught her mapping her features. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, too. Say thank you, Wren,” the blonde quips, already turning to leave. 

“Thanks, Miss Khan. Bye!” Wren calls over her shoulder, a clumsy wave almost clashing with Josie’s chin.

As she watches them go, Josie’s hand shifting to tickle Wren’s side and entice a flurry of high-pitched giggles, Yaz’s heart flutters in her ribs. 

For the remainder of the day, class YK feels a little quieter, a little less familiar — like a grand orchestral performance without a crescendo — a star without its shine. If she doesn’t hold herself back sometime soon, she might just become attached. 

* * *

Josie loses count of the paper scrunched up in balls around the room an hour into Wren’s request of painting, splashes of pink smattered over the child’s features within seconds of starting. What starts as a simple art session with ABBA playing on the vinyl turns, in record time, into ‘how many dots of paint can one nose cover’. In hindsight, Josie should’ve predicted this. 

She should’ve also predicted the reminder of who’d won the race that morning, the debt of sugary chocolate ice cream settled before her four year old’s triumphant smirk stealing twenty minutes from her nighttime routine. 

By the time the evening rolls around and both have washed the dry paint from their skin, Wren survives half a film before soft giggles turn to lazy, shallow breaths, nose pressed against her shoulder and the sleepy smile on her lips remaining. 

Josie tentatively scoops the dozing child up, her head lolling against her shoulder the minute she’s lifted into her warm embrace. She climbs the stairs slowly, hoping not to jostle her and risk another delay to her sleep. There’s nothing worse than a grumpy, weepy four year old early in the morning, so she’s eager to avoid the possibility. 

She rouses when she tucks star-dusted sheets up to her chin, the night lamp at her bedside projecting solar systems and constellations of stars above her head. “Hey, hey, settle down, love,” Josie whispers in the quiet, reaching out to stroke her fingers gently through slightly damp blonde curls (apparently Wren had thought it was a good idea to paint her hair green, rather than the clean paper in front of her). 

Luckily enough, the toddler settles, soothed by the fingertips carding through her hair. “Goodnight, Wren,” Josie croons, lips brushing her forehead in a loving caress. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, mummy,” Wren coos back, speech slurred with fatigue as she dances along the bridge between wakefulness and slumber. “Goodnight.”

She remains at her bedside until she knows sleep has overtaken her form, then pads silently from the room and down the stairs. Collecting up balled paper and loose paintbrushes, Josie cleans up until it’s tidy enough to settle on the couch with a glass of red wine. Pretty Woman plays in the background when Josie’s phone chimes to life, startling her enough to coat her navy pyjama top in a splash of red. 

With a curse, she reaches over for the device, the curious twitch to her lips falling to pieces. In its place settles a disgusted, somewhat alarmed frown, and the remainder of her wine seeps into azure cotton in her efforts to decline the call as quickly as humanly possible.

“No, no. You are _not_ fooling us again,” Josie whispers into the empty room, already predicting the restless night of tossing and turning to follow. 

Four miles away, perched at a barstool and nursing her third rum, Callie Silver chuckles slyly as the dial tone runs short, cutting off before the recipient can talk. _Phone call declined._ “You can’t keep me from her forever,” she murmurs against her curved glass, eyes following the circular pattern curling along the rim. It’s similar to that of the serpent, dark and coiled in on itself, painted against her collarbone. 

All at once, Josie’s world doesn’t quite seem so picture-perfect.


	3. you say my name, i pull away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank u as always to my beta @clickofthecollar and enjoy 5k of pure brainfuzz !!!!
> 
> tw: alcoholism

_There’s a face inches from her own and, even through slumber, Josie can smell the alcohol on her breath. A mane of luscious dark locks frames the features she’s come to detest, bordering on fear, and there’s shouting. She’s raised her voice, fierce eyebrows arched and furious like fighting stags._

_“You have no right. She’s my daughter, too, and I can take her whenever and wherever I like,” the familiar voice snarls, and bile rises in Josie’s throat while she wrestles against her ex-wife’s imposing form. “In fact, I could probably just take her with me now, couldn’t I? You can’t stop me.”_

_She’s trapped, bound by an invisible force while Callie retreats, only to return with a bundle of sleeping Wren in her arms. The child blinks green eyes open briefly, then settles into her hold again._

_“No! Wren, please! Wake up, she’s not — Callie, please, you can’t do this!” Josie begs and pleads, writhing to release herself from where she’s rooted to the spot._

_“I can do whatever I want. I’m her mother,” the dark-haired woman sneers, smirks, and turns for the door._

_“Rowan!” Josie cries after their retreating forms, but her limbs are heavy, eyelids heavier._

She wakes with a start, fingers curled into the sheets which have been otherwise cast away from her form. She’s in a pool of sweat, fingers trembling, breaths rapid and rasping. She’s still only half-awake when she slips from her bed and heads straight for her daughter’s room, the time on the hallway clock ticking ten minutes shy of three in the morning. She’s silent when she pokes her head around the door to Wren’s room, holding her breath as she scans the low light.

There’s a Wren-shaped lump spread over the bed like a starfish, and she can finally breathe, a hand pressed to her gut when she heaves with each intake of oxygen. Hastily, her feet drag her towards the bathroom, where she leans against the sink with a sob. Relief washes through her like the tide, slowly, then all at once until it’s hard to catch her breath again. 

“One, two, three, four,” she whispers on an intake of breath, then doubles the digits on an exhale. She repeats the process until black dots stop swimming in her pupils, though when she looks in the mirror, she can see the blotchiness to her cheeks and the sheen of sweat layering her skin. “Don’t let her get to you, she’s not worth it,” she reminds herself, vulnerability giving way to steely determination. 

An hour of tossing and turning and a long, cleansing shower later, Josie wanders downstairs in fatigued silence, curling up in front of the television with a blanket curled around her form. She eyes the bottle of wine sitting invitingly on the counter, then thinks better of it, settling for a glass of ice-cold water instead. She’s picking at the loose threads littering her purple sofa when bare feet patter down the stairs, cautious and quiet. 

“Mummy?” Wren whispers, clambering onto the sofa at her side and stealing a section of blanket, her favourite soft toy tucked between them. “Did you have a bad dream too?” 

Lifting an arm to draw the toddler closer, Josie sighs into the top of her head. “Seems so, yeah. C’mere, you’ve still got an hour until you’re meant to be up,” she murmurs, the birds chirping through open windows the only other sound so early in the morning. She turns the television off and relaxes, allowing Wren to curl up against her side, feet settled in her lap. She’s so disoriented and fatigued she doesn’t register Wren’s words until a few minutes later. “Wait — ‘too?’ Did you have a bad dream, Wren?”

She can feel the four year old nod against her chest, a small fist clinging to her pyjama top. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Josie probes gently, carding her fingers through blonde waves, ruffled with sleep. When her daughter doesn’t respond right away, she bites into her bottom lip, thinking back to the day before. “Was it about yesterday?” her words are tinged with restrained anger, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. 

“He kept shouting at me. I don't get it, you’re my mum. You’re all I need,” she whispers in earnest, curling closer, lashes fluttering with sleep. 

Josie bites back tears, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head and disguising a sniffle into the yawn which follows. She’s at a loss for words for a long few moments, her bottom lip trembling. She’s overwhelmed and tired and a little scared of their future, of being enough for a growing child, of providing the same amount of support and attention that two parents usually handle with ease, but Wren’s words soften her, coaxing her thoughts to a slow simmer rather than an uncontrollable churn. “Thank you, love. I don’t deserve you at all.”

Wren pops her head up in an instant, green eyes boring into her own, imploring her to see sense. Josie swallows around a lump in her throat, identical eyes glossy. “Why are you crying, mummy?”

“I just love you a lot, that’s all,” she whispers, a sole tear tumbling down her cheek. Wren scrunches her nose, reaching up to catch it when it falls. 

“I love you too,” she sinks down, settling once more against her side, half-perched in her lap.

Comfortable silence follows, a lazy breeze filtering in through open windows and ruffling pale yellow curtains while fatigue captures and envelopes their forms. 

When she rouses an hour or so later, Josie still feels groggy and agitated. She only has to sleep-walk through an afternoon of faulty arcade machines and prize tokens before she can relax again, so, pulling herself up and allowing Wren to rest a little longer, she gets to work on breakfast. She turns the radio on and lowers the volume in the hope an idle sing-along might brighten her mood, unaware of the text message momentarily lighting up her phone screen. 

“Turn it up!” Wren quips ten minutes later, sleep-dishevelled but smiling. She skips over to her mother’s side and lifts her arms, and with an ‘oof’, Josie lifts her onto the counter, where she swings her legs.

“Did you sleep okay in the end, buddy?” Josie hums, bobbing her head to Kasabian’s _Fire._

Wren wriggles her toes to the beat, eyes lighting up when Josie fetches the chocolate spread from the cupboard and starts painting it over two pieces of toast. She can’t resist reaching out to dip her finger into the sweet substance while her mother isn’t looking, mumbling around a mouthful, chocolate clinging to the corners of her lips — she’s hardly subtle. “Yes! Did you?”

“Of course,” Josie responds, failing to even believe herself.

Wren glances up, offering up an impossibly empathetic smile, and suddenly she doesn’t feel so glum. Re-energised, Josie slides Wren’s breakfast over and settles in the stool opposite, swiping a finger through the jar of chocolate spread with no hesitation. 

“Hey! You always tell me I’m not allowed to do that!” Wren huffs, aghast but playful. She drops her piece of toast back onto her plate and crosses her arms. 

“Nuh-uh, I said you couldn’t _unless_ you used a spoon,” Josie retorts, dipping her digit into the sweet spread once more. 

Wren fixes her hand with a pointed gaze, “You’re not using a spoon!” 

“Oops?” Josie shrugs, her laughter ringing through open windows. She turns to fill the kettle up, determined to get some coffee into her system if only to stay awake for the remainder of the day. She’s adding four spoonfuls of sugar when she hears shuffling behind her. 

“Mummy? Isn’t — wasn’t Callie my mum?” Wren inquires, pointing out the name connected to the three messages on Josie’s phone’s lock screen. The four year old jostles when Josie drops the spoon from her fingers, metal clattering against the worktop when she turns to reach for her phone. 

“She — yes, love. Can I have my phone, please?” Josie’s shoulders tense and her features shift at the mere mention of her name. The radio fizzles with bad service, music crackling. “Rowan, please, give it back,” she repeats a little more sternly when the youngster glances curiously over the messages, her brows pinching.

Wren gives in when she hears the unfamiliar tone to her voice, slipping the device into her mother’s hand and observing her thoughtfully. She remembers her other mother’s striking features and gorgeous hair, amidst her shouting and commanding nature. She remembers the special bottle she used to carry around with her, silver and slim and constantly filled with foul-smelling liquid. The more she consumed, the louder the fights would be. 

They’d had to relocate three days after Wren’s first birthday, and since then, she hadn’t seen her. The messages drag up memories she’d left at the back of her mind, foggy and mismatched considering her age at the time. They’re not all negative, but the hurt currently etched over Josie’s features makes her stomach twist in an unwelcome manner. 

“Can you go and get dressed for me, Wren? I’ve just got to — I've just got to sort this,” Jose murmurs on a sigh, leaning against the counter. There’s a tremble to her fingers which leaves Wren uneasy, but she follows her instructions obediently, slipping from her perch and heading up to her room. 

Whilst Wren is occupied, Josie can finally read through the messages littering her screen, gnawing at her bottom lip while anxiety wrestles with her heart. 

_Please answer my calls. I’m finally coming around to things, I promise. I’m better now. We need to talk._

_I know you’re mad at me for everything, but please, let me at least apologise in person._

_How’s Rowan? I’d love to see her._

The last message has her knuckles curling around the countertop — she’s always been overly protective of her daughter since Callie left, so the prospect of them interacting again makes her heart race uncomfortably in her chest. 

“Mummy? Are you okay?” Wren hops down the last step, rucksack settled over her shoulders, and rounds to her side. She does the only thing she can think to do, leaning on her boot-clad toes to curl her arms around her middle and squeeze, her mieger height making her level with her hips. She can feel the way her muscles untwist and relax, tension easing. “Did she upset you?” she questions, then, quieter, “Did _I_ upset you?”

“Oh, Wren, of course you didn’t,” Josie defends quickly, reaching down to ruffle her hair affectionately. “It’s your mum — I think she’s around here somewhere. In Sheffield, I mean,” she admits, because there’s no point lying. Secrets don’t keep people safe. 

“Here? What does she want?” Wren quips, lifting her arms, blinking puppy eyes at her. 

Her mother scoops her up, balancing her on her hip and pocketing her phone. “Another chance, apparently,” she sighs, rubbing at the back of her neck. She checks the clock on the wall, deciding leaving earlier rather than later would be a wise decision. “Alright, let’s get a shift on. You got everything you need, babe?”

“Yep,” Wren tucks her coat around herself a little more as she’s set back down, adjusting her rucksack once they’re outside. She intertwines her hand with her mother’s at the quickest opportunity, settling into step at her side. 

“Wren?” Josie quips, thirteen steps into their journey — Wren’s been practising her numbers for quite some time now, to the impressed surprise of her mother. 

The curly blonde in question raises her head, glancing up at her mother with only affection in her green eyes. “Yes?” 

“How much —- how much do you actually remember about Callie?” she probes gently, and it’s clear she’s lost in thought, working out the pros and cons of the situation she’s unfortunately found herself in. 

Wren swings their hands between them, dodging the cracks in the pavement while she walks. “She had pretty hair, but she didn’t smile much. She made you sad,” she answers simply, honestly, catching her gaze with a small smile. “You’ve been happier since she left. You smile all the time now.” 

Josie softens entirely, creases building in the corners of her eyes when her lips curl upwards. The sun shines a little brighter in the sky above them. 

Wren’s nattering about the lessons she has to look forward to today when a bell chimes from behind them, followed by jogging steps. Josie turns to glance over her shoulder, prepared to jump out of the way of an enraged cyclist but instead coming across a slightly breathless looking Yaz. 

“Miss Khan!” Wren cries in delight, a warm, excited smile gracing her lips. 

“Should’ve known I’d bump into you two, shouldn’t I?” Yaz beams, catching up to walk alongside the two blondes. “Hi, Wren. How are you feeling today?” 

Josie momentarily has to remind herself to glance away from the dark-haired woman, blinking through a pleasant haze. She has no idea how this woman manages to leave her so breathless with a gesture as simple as a smile. She’s reeling and dizzy with the effort of keeping her thoughts in order. 

Wren gives a simple shrug, but she breathes a giggle when Josie squeezes her hand. “I’m okay,” she smiles, then twists to glance up at the bell attached to Yaz’s handlebars. “Can I ring the bell? Just once, I promise.”

The innocence lacing her features pulls at her heartstrings in seconds, and she motions towards the instrument with a laugh. “Of course you can. It’s not getting much use at the minute anyway, I think I’ve damaged something to do with the gears on the way here,” she notes, eyeing the chain hanging a touch looser than usual. 

Giggling, Wren leans up to spring the device into action. She beams at the chime which resonates through her fingertips, offering her teacher a grateful grin. 

Before the subject changes, Jessie takes her chance. “I can take a look at it once we get inside, if you like? I’m a bit rusty but I worked in a bike shop as a teen. I picked up a few tricks of the trade,” she quips, stepping aside to allow the dark-haired woman through the gates first. She earns a polite nod in return. 

“Really? I’d be so grateful, honestly,” Yaz all but swoons, wheeling the faulty bicycle into the porch outside her classroom and unlocking the door with a flourish. She swings it open and gestures for mother and daughter to enter, leaning her bike against the nearest wall. 

Josie takes a moment to admire the room in all its artistic chaos, fingers itching to etch a canvas from all the colours dancing across the walls. Then she remembers the task at hand, unaware of the young set of eyes flicking between the two women in quiet amusement.

It’s amazing how children pick up on things adults are oblivious to. 

Taking a quick scan over the manufactured metal, Josie crouches to check the derailleurs, then the chain. “I think the chain has just slipped from the rings, that’s all. That’s what’s making your gears go a bit wibbly-wobbly. There’s still ten minutes until people start turning up, if you’d like me to fix it?” 

Yaz glances at the clock, then at the blonde perched cross-legged on her classroom floor, lips twisting in thought. “You sure I’m not holding you up?”

“I’m sure! Honestly, I love getting my hands dirty,” she laughs, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater and flexing her fingers. Without hesitation, she gets to work, lifting the chain from its purchase and gradually re-aligning it with the gears. 

Yaz swallows thickly at the unexpected goosebumps dotting her flesh, redirecting her attention to the four year old smirking atop her desk. “You fancy helping me set up the class for the day, Wren?”

“Yes!” The girl brightens, slipping from her perch to spring into action. 

Ten minutes and various complications later, Josie sits back on her heels, hands stained with oil. She looks incredibly proud of herself, though, dusting off her hands and standing. “Should be as good as new, Yaz.”

The woman in question pads over with a grateful sigh, watching on as Josie pushes a piece of hair from her eyes and— “Wait, you’re going to get oil on your—” proceeds to paint a black smudge against her cheekbone. “— face,” Yaz finishes on a bubbly laugh, which only increases at the blushing, embarrassed look on Josie’s face. 

Even Wren joins in with their laughter once she spots her mother’s clumsy mistake, giggling behind her palm. 

“Hey! I thought you were on my side,” Josie huffs playfully at her daughter, tucking her sleeve over her thumb to attempt to rub the stain away. 

“Wait! Don’t ruin your top. Here, I have some wipes I keep for emergencies,” Yaz pauses her in her ministrations, reaching into the top drawer of her desk and handing over a couple of thin sheets. 

When Josie aims for the wrong place on her cheek, Wren laughs heartily, meaning Yaz can’t stifle her own snigger. “A little higher — here, let me,” she chuckles, following the pouting jut of Josie’s bottom lip when she gently wipes away the dirty residue. She notices a patch of freckles dusting her nose and her cheeks warm. She has to clear her throat when she pulls back, allowing Josie to gather herself again. 

“Well, I guess I’d better head off. Let me know if you have any other problems with your bike, by the way. I can always lend a hand if you need it,” the blonde offers modestly, not quite able to meet Yaz’s gaze for fear she’ll jumble her words up again. 

“I’m so grateful, honestly. _Thank you,”_ Yaz praises, leaning back against her desk and fumbling with the lanyard draped around her neck. “I’ll see you later, Josie.”

“Smell you later, Wren,” Josie quips to her daughter with a goofy grin, nose scrunched, then slips from the room with a sense of warmth. She knows her daughter is in safe hands, as long as she’s with the dark-haired woman infiltrating the majority of her thoughts like a virus attacks a computer. 

* * *

When Josie heads to work a few hours later, she does so with renewed vigour, enough so that it captures the attention of her lacklustre colleague. Ryan arches a brow when Josie happily volunteers to clean the stalls instead of forcing the task upon him, ready and waiting when she returns. 

“Did you get lucky last night or something? What’s with all the grinning and no bullying?” Ryan questions, up-front and unashamed, and Josie blushes furiously. 

“ _Ryan._ That’s extremely unprofessional. I’m your _boss,”_ she chides, faux-serious. “And no, I didn’t. I just - I’ve made a new friend, that’s all. It’s nice — refreshing.”

“Is she the one you’ve been sketching?” Ryan quips to catch her off-guard again, re-arranging a display of tokens while Josie busies herself re-writing the day’s lunch specials in chalk for the cafe next door. 

“Perhaps, yes. Why?” the blonde retorts, adding a doodle of a carousel to the corner. Her ears are burning and she can already predict the next words to reel from Ryan’s lips. 

“Do you have massive crushes on _all_ of your friends? Or is it just her?” he teases, dodging out of the way of a piece of chalk. 

“I heard the toilets next door could do with an extra pair of hands,” Josie bites back, settling a hand on her hip. 

“You wouldn’t —”

“Oh, they’re already expecting you.”

* * *

Josie isn’t there right away when Wren leaves her classroom, waiting outside on the steps with a fresh painting clutched in her hands. She’d admitted to Yaz that her mother hadn’t been too cheerful the night and morning previous, so she’d suggested the idea as a form of comfort. So, sitting patient but pensive on the steps outside Yaz’s demountable, Wren eyes the small chestnut bird scrawled over the page and covered with a lick of paint in scrutiny. 

She’s so distracted that she doesn’t notice the tall, flamboyant looking figure wandering in through the school gates, heading in her direction with curious eyes similar to her own. 

“That’s a beautiful painting, love,” a strangely familiar voice echoes through Wren’s ears, encouraging her to glance up in question. 

When their gazes level, Wren visibly stiffens, capturing the attention of the young teacher leant in the doorway, just out of sight. She blinks a few times, wordless, then backs up to the next step and stands, poised to run if needed. “Um — thank you.”

“Do you remember me, Rowan?” the pretty woman questions, her tone soft but lacking warmth. There’s a stale odour on her breath, a hint of… spice? — which reminds Rowan of her earliest memories. Her knees are a little weak and she feels like she might fall over, even though she’s perfectly steady on her feet. She clutches the painting tighter and glances around, desperately looking out for her teacher. 

Clouds clash overhead, casting the sun in shadow. 

“Yes, you’re — you’re Callie,” Wren confirms, wary when the brunette crouches, lowering a knee to the ground. She seems to be studying her features, green eyes glossy and distant, as though there’s a robot controlling her while she sleeps securely inside. 

“Callie? Don’t be so formal, babe. I’m your mum, silly,” she chuckles, the sound shrill and broken. She reaches out, then, as if to touch the back of her hand to her cheek, and Wren panics. She runs straight into Yaz’s side, leaving the young teacher to regard the stranger in accusation.

“Ma’am, who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Yaz tilts her head, curling a protective arm over the youngster’s shoulders, keeping her close to her side. Wren clings to her clothes as though she’ll be ripped away in seconds. 

“I’m her mother, dear. I just — I haven’t seen her in a while, that’s all. The little scoundrel is always kicking up a fuss, isn’t she?” Callie all but sneers, sending a cloud of alcohol-infused breath her way. 

_No, she isn’t,_ Yaz wants to respond, but she doesn’t wish to aggravate the slightly intoxicated woman further. She motions towards her classroom, reaching down to grip Wren’s hand as tightly as she can. She’s overwhelmed with maternal feelings for the girl; she should’ve known she’d become attached. “Would you mind coming inside for a moment? There are lots of children out here. I don’t want to cause a fuss.”

“Of course, Miss,” the brunette croons, anything but pleased. She follows after them anyway, slipping into the classroom with a charming smile. Yaz is momentarily surprised that, for someone who smells like they’ve personally matured with beer, her teeth are brilliantly white and her hair is beautifully styled. 

“What’s your name, sorry? Just for the record,” Yaz stalls, hoping and praying that Josie will turn up soon. 

“Callie Silver. Short for Calypso,” she announces, toying with a container of coloured pencils. Wren sticks to Yaz’s side like a loose thread, regarding her with fearful disapproval. “Gotta say — I was expecting you to be a little more excited, mate,” she admits to the youngster keeping as far away from her as possible, hands clutching at the sleeve of her blouse. She’s very pretty — she expects Josie has something to do with how close Wren seems to be with the young woman. 

“Does Josie know you’re here?” Yaz keeps her tone light, airy, unwilling to be provoked by the gorgeous woman loitering in her classroom, as though waiting for Wren to come around and realise she’s the best person on the planet. 

“First name terms, huh? I should’ve known. And no, not exactly. It was meant to be a surprise! She’ll be very excited to see me, I bet,” although her tone suggests otherwise. Her heels click with each step she takes, as well as the chain connected twice over to the waistband of her black jeans. She’s wearing a loose white blouse and a leather waistcoat, looking every inch a cartoon pirate. 

Yaz wonders idly what must have attracted Josie to her. 

Callie smirks, knowing she’s being inspected curiously, and Yaz can suddenly almost understand. 

“Mummy!” Wren cries when blonde locks appear from the porch outside, followed by hurried footsteps. Josie sweeps inside and grins at her daughter. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Wren. Some kid got stuck inside the grabber machine so we had to get the fire brigade in,” she recites comically, seemingly oblivious to the presence behind her. She takes in Wren’s nervous expression and then glances to Yaz, who is pointedly looking over her left shoulder. “What’s wro—”

She turns slowly on her heels, a small hand curling into her own once she’s faced with the person she never thought she’d ever see again. She never _wanted_ to see again. 

“Long time no see, huh?” Callie quips, light-hearted and charming as always. There’s nervousness in her eyes, though, or perhaps she’s just hungover. She reaches out to touch a hand to Josie’s forearm, but she flinches away just in time. 

“Get out,” Josie commands quietly, fingers trembling in her daughter’s hand. 

“Can’t we talk?” Callie probes, lips curling into a somewhat surprised frown — she’s not used to her ex-wife being so standoffish and brave. It’s quite attractive. 

“Really? You — you walk into my daughter’s school and expect me to just bend to your will? To want to talk to you? You haven’t changed a bit,” she snaps, allowing Wren to hurry back over to Yaz while she ushers the shocked woman out. “Get out. We don’t need you.”

“ _Your daughter?”_ Callie laughs, stepping outside the door but keeping her foot in the doorway to keep it from closing. “Please, can’t we plan something? Coffee,dinner, I don’t care, I just want to talk. I want to explain myself,” she changes her tone, green eyes boring into her own. “Just you and I — we don’t have to drag Rowan into this.”

“ _My daughter,_ yes. Did I stutter?” Josie bites back, stepping through the door so Wren’s youthful ears aren’t assaulted with harsh words. “We don’t _need you_ , Callie. Just go. For your own good.”

“All I’m asking is for another chance, Josie,” Callie’s all but pleading now, but Josie can’t tell if it’s the alcohol in her system talking or genuine desperation. 

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you turned up at my daughter’s school and confronted her without my permission or my knowledge. Now, for the love of the gods, just _go,”_ Josie seethes quietly, turning to head back into the classroom. She can hear Callie’s sigh, followed by heeled boots retreating through the schoolyard to the gates. She’d clearly realised her mistake, silently cursing herself in her wake. 

Josie sweeps back into the classroom with features ashen with apology and guilt, immediately scooping Wren into her arms and pressing kisses to her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Wren. If I’d have known, I — Christ, are you okay? Did she try to take you away?” Josie rambles anxiously, pupils brimming with salty moisture. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, mummy. I ran to Yaz, straight away,” Wren murmurs into her shoulder, arms curled around her neck. 

The woman in question straightens up, padding over to rest a hand gently against Josie’s shoulder. “Are _you_ okay, Josie? You’re looking a little pale,” concern and warmth envelope her words, a stark contrast to the last woman she’d interacted with. 

“Me? I’m okay, I’m always okay. I’m the queen of okay,” she lies, though when she meets Yaz’s gaze, she can tell the other woman doesn’t believe her. “Just a bit shaken up, that’s all. She’s my ex-wife. She hasn’t been around since Wren’s first birthday. I had no idea she’d just turn up like that. I’m so sorry for dumping all this on you,” Josie sighs, bottom lip trembling out of sight of her daughter. She strokes her hand up and down the child’s back, breathing in her comforting scent. 

Yaz seems to entertain an internal debate for a few long minutes before she grabs her jacket and her bag. “We’re going for coffee, right now. Wren, you like milkshake, right?”

“Yes!” Wren chimes, turning her head to grin at her teacher. 

“Wait — wait, isn’t there some kind of rule about hanging out with students?” Josie breathes, flummoxed and bashful. She sets the toddler down at her side, grasping her hand instead. “I don’t want to take up even more of your time, Yaz, honestly.”

“You’re not my student, Josie, and I’d love to hang out with you both, if that’s okay with you? It’s either this or an evening in front of the television,” Yaz admits on a laugh, slipping her leather jacket on and propping the door open for them both. “Come on, there’s a really nice cafe at the end of the street. It’s never too busy, and they make the _best_ brownies in town.”

“They have brownies, mummy. _Brownies!”_ Wren pleads, all but dragging the blonde out after her. 

Figuring her arguments are futile, Josie follows along after the young teacher brightening her days, a bemused, bashful smile on her lips. 

“Miss Khan?” Wren quips a few paces along the pavement outside the school gates, a skip in her step. 

“You can call me Yaz outside of class, Wren. What is it, sweetheart?” Yaz glances back, features soft and warm and entirely too affectionate for Josie’s heart to handle. 

“Thank you,” the four year old answers simply, padding forward to offer her hand to the blushing young teacher. Josie holds back, eyeing the streets for any sign of unwanted attention, but her expression turns into adoration when Yaz happily accepts Wren’s hand into her own. 

“Thank you for what, love?” Yaz quips, sparing a glance towards the blonde a step behind them, concern still dusting the crease between her brows. 

“For making mummy happy,” Wren replies, earnest and genuine, swinging Yaz’s hand between them. Then, lowering her voice to a whisper, she smirks as though she’s about to reveal the biggest of secrets, “I think she might have a crush on you.”

From beside them, they hear a splutter of coughs before a high-pitched, shaky laugh. “Rowan Smith, you are on a talking ban from now until I say otherwise.”


	4. opening up, letting the day in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank u again to my beta @clickofthecollar !!! this one's a bit shorter to slow the pace a little!! but i promise stuff will start moving again very soon!

A half-full glass of chocolate milk obscures and curves Wren’s features when Yaz glances through the transparent material at her, the child’s tongue poked out between her lips. “Do I look funny? Mummy says it’s called ref — something?”

“Refraction?” Yaz offers, leaning her elbows on the table and dropping her chin into her palm. She tilts her head, a smile on her lips she can’t seem to fight. The four year old is adorable and fascinating and intelligent and she can’t resist holding onto her every word. 

“That’s it! Ref-action! I love science,” Wren confirms in triumph, kicking her feet beneath the table when she takes another sip of her drink. “What’s your favourite subject, Yaz?”

Josie watches on from the other side of the cafe as Wren babbles and Yaz happily complies with her assault of curious questions. They flipped a coin to decide who would pay for the brownies sitting deliciously on display behind the counter. She slides a note over, telling the young barista to keep the change, before picking up her tray and heading back over. 

“Brownies incoming!” the blonde warns once she’s close enough, her stomach already rumbling due to a lack of sustenance for the day. Yaz shuffles up to make room, sliding their steaming mugs of coffee aside so Josie can set the tray down. “Three brownies for three hungry stomachs,” she comments, slipping into her seat and passing out the sugary treats politely. 

Wren is distracted from her line of questioning when she catches sight of the brownies, reaching out to take a bite which has chocolate lining the corner of her lips and dusting her chin in seconds. 

“She hasn’t been interrogating you too much, has she?” Josie quips playfully against the rim of her mug, nose a little pink from the heat of the beverage. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it _interrogation_ — I haven’t been asked what my favourite colour is in years. It’s quite refreshing to get to the hard-hitting questions straight away,” Yaz says through laughter, admiring the child with more brownie on her face than in her tummy. 

“It’s yummy!” the child cries through a mouthful, and Yaz beams when Josie’s face splits into a grin. She’d been worried about the tension still remaining in her shoulders, the slight downturn of her lips, the nervousness making her fingertips tremble slightly. 

Once the youngster is settled with a pack of crayons and a colouring book, humming to herself while she scribbles, Yaz shuffles her chair up slightly closer to Josie’s. She wants to rest a hand over her fiddling fingers, to etch the worry from her features like the tide washes away the remnants of disturbed sand. “Are you okay?” She lowers her voice, not wishing to alert the child at her side. 

Josie meets her gaze, as though surprised at the caring tone to her voice. She nods, cheeks rosy. “I’ll be fine, promise. I just — I didn’t think things would come to this, that’s all,” she admits, voice quiet, contemplative. She picks at the sugary treat which remains un-eaten on her plate, taking the smallest of bites despite the way her stomach churns with hunger. “I don’t really know what to do,” she adds on a quieter note, pushing the plate aside and taking a shaky sip from her coffee instead. 

Yaz’s heart breaks for the other woman, and she doesn’t hesitate this time — reaching across, she lays a hand over the blonde’s in what she hopes is a comforting gesture, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I don’t know much about the situation, but I know that you’re going to make the right decision, either way,” she murmurs in support. “You’re a good person, from what I’ve seen, and you’ll do anything to make Wren happy. I mean — you’ve clearly raised her perfectly. She’s a superstar.”

Josie can’t help the smile which creeps back along her lips, the hand resting over her own a pleasant distraction from the thoughts torrenting through her mind like thick summer rain, on the edge of a storm. She’s tempted to turn her hand around, to intertwine their fingers and never let go, but she barely knows the young teacher. Perhaps she’s just lonely. The thought makes her stiffen slightly, but instead of pulling away, Yaz idly strokes a thumb over her knuckles — it might be an unconscious action, but it soothes the blonde momentarily. She has to remind herself of Yaz’s last words, the tender brush of skin against skin enough to leave her a little dizzy. “She is pretty brilliant, yeah. The best thing to happen to me — which is what makes this so hard.”

“That’s understandable, totally,” Yaz responds, warmth turning her pupils a little browner than usual, golden flecks dusting chestnut. “How did you and Callie first meet? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” she backs up, then, features open to Josie’s hesitation. 

Josie studies their hands while memories flood to the forefront of her mind like an old, forgotten photo album, dredged up from the dust and fog of her consciousness. “No, it’s okay. We met at university. She was studying English Literature and I was studying Art and Design. She was a friend of a friend and she used to make fun of me a lot. She told me I was nerdy and I thought she was a total _arse_ , but then one night, at a party, she was upset, so I went to comfort her and something changed,” she recounts, unaware of the young ears taking a sudden interest. Wren can never resist a story. “After that, we were inseparable, really. We finished uni and she moved into my tiny flat in Huddersfield. I had a job as soon as I left, curating at the local gallery and selling art on the side, but she took a little longer, started drinking and disappearing a lot. It was only a phase, thankfully, so as soon as she managed to get a job lecturing at Sheffield University she was back to normal. We were happy, right until five years later when we got married,” she pauses, taking a sip from her coffee again, her throat dry. 

“Take your time, it’s alright,” Yaz reminds her gently, her grip on her hand unyielding but in the best possible way. It’s the only thing grounding Josie to the present. 

Josie chances a glance to her daughter, who continues to distractedly colour away at a page of seahorses. “That’s beautiful, Wren. Do you think you could colour another one for me?”

“Yes! This one, with the clownfish? Like Nemo?” Wren quips, flipping the page to motion towards the outlined drawing. 

“Perfect, love,” Josie grins, though it doesn’t quite reach her ears. 

Yaz offers up a sincere smile when Josie returns her gaze again, but she’s frankly a little worried about where the story will turn next. 

“I wanted kids, she wasn’t totally sure, but she was willing to give it a go, so we decided I’d carry the baby. It took us two years until I fell pregnant, and she was brilliant the whole way through. It was a smooth birth with no problems at all. I almost thought it was too good to be true,” another pause follows, Josie’s eyes stinging with the sudden onslaught of tears. 

“Hey, hey. We don’t have to do this, you know? You’ve already told me so much,” Yaz murmurs gently, sliding over a spare napkin. 

Wren glances up from her drawing, notices the liquid pooling in her mother’s eyes, then the comforting actions of her teacher, and settles back into the task with a tight-lipped frown. 

“No, it’s okay. Sorry. I haven’t spoken about it in so long, it’s bringing back some memories I haven’t thought about in a while, that’s all,” she takes a breath, then continues. “She was eight months old when I took her into Callie’s work to surprise her, only to find her — uh, _with_ another member of staff. The same friend who introduced us back in university. It went downhill from there - Callie started drinking again, every night. Some nights she wouldn’t even come home, and then I put my foot down, a day after Wren’s first birthday. I gave her an ultimatum and she chose her wild lifestyle over us. I packed a few bags and left for Sheffield the next day. I haven’t seen her since. Until today, that is,” Josie finishes, a sudden weight eased from her shoulders. She slumps back into her chair with a sad laugh. “And that’s our tragic story. You ready to run for the hills yet?”

“You underestimate me, Josie Smith,” Yaz counters determinedly, giving her an entirely too kind smile. “Thank you for opening up to me. Does it — I don’t know — does it feel a little better now? Is your mind clearer?” she probes carefully, ready to back off if necessary. She goes to shift her fingers, pull them away, but Josie stiffens up again, so she leaves them in their place. She’s not complaining — Josie has very smooth hands, and her heart flutters pleasantly each time her fingers shift beneath her own.

“Quite a lot, actually, yeah,” Josie offers up a slightly dazed smile, slipping her phone from her pocket abruptly when it chimes with a new message. Yaz can tell by the look on her face who the recipient must be. 

“What did she say?” she asks delicately, brows pinching. 

“Same old, same old. She’s changed and she wants to meet up to talk things through,” Josie sighs, settling the device on the table in front of her and carding her free hand through her hair. She looks dishevelled and exhausted, even after a coffee filled with six sugars. 

“What if — no, never mind,” Yaz starts, then abruptly cuts herself off with a shake of her head. 

“No, go on. I’m listening,” Josie responds, leaning an elbow on the table and raising her brows in question. 

Yaz twists her lips into a pensive, thoughtful frown, avoiding Josie’s gaze for a moment. “What if — and hear me out — what if you met up with her for coffee or whatever, and gave her one more chance, _just one,_ to apologise and explain herself, and then decide what to do next. If she’s genuine and she really does want to try and regain her relationship with Wren back, then maybe, in the future, they can see each other again and figure out if there’s a chance there,” she pauses, taking in Josie’s indecipherable expression, then surges onwards. “If you can tell she’s just talking out of her arse, you can tell her to leave you both alone, and, if necessary, get some kind of order against her?”

Josie tugs a lock of hair taught, untangling the knot tying three strands together. She heaves a sigh, then scrunches her nose in thought. “I suppose that makes sense, yeah, but I’m not bringing Wren into this yet. No way,” she informs her strictly, watching the occupied youngster at the other end of the table with a frown. 

“Of course. You don’t have to. And if — and I’m emphasising the ‘if’ — she turns out to be genuine, it doesn’t mean you can’t be there when Callie sees her. She can have accompanied visiting time. You have control over this, Josie. You’re the one who’s basically single-handedly raised her,” Yaz reinforces, giving her hand another squeeze. 

Josie physically softens, turning to fix Yaz with the most genuine and grateful of looks. Her eyes are a little watery again, so Yaz smiles, light and affectionate and full of courage. “You’ve got this, Josie.”

Their gazes speak volumes, the intimate moment only broken when Wren suddenly slips from her seat, tapping her mother’s shoulder gently. “Mummy, I need a wee,” she murmurs loudly and unashamedly, rocking on her toes. 

Yaz can’t help the chortle which slips past her lips, dragging her hand reluctantly away to hide her laughter behind her palm. 

Josie mourns the loss silently, but gives in to the chuckle bubbling in her throat. “I’ll just be a second, sorry, Yaz. She has yet to learn table manners.”

Yaz huffs another short laugh before an idea springs to mind, and she shifts to stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll take her. I could do with stretching my legs a little. Take a moment to relax, okay?”

“I think I might let her know a plan. I guess it’s best to get it over and done with, right?” she ponders more to herself than Yaz, picking up her phone to finally respond to the string of messages she’s received. 

“Of course, that’s sensible. Be stern!” Yaz quips, taking Wren’s hand when she offers. 

Wren is all too happy to follow Yaz through the cafe to the toilets, where Yaz waits patiently outside, keeping an eye on the older blonde. 

Josie’s knee begins to jump nervously while she types out a quick message, pearly whites capturing her bottom lip and gnawing at the flesh there.

_The Coffee House, 4pm, tomorrow. Take it or leave it._

Less than a minute later, and much to Josie’s relief, a reply lights up her screen. 

_Thank you. I’ll be there. X_

She breathes a sigh of relief into her palms, which then graze over her features in exhaustion. 

“How did it go?” she hears Yaz’s familiar voice over her shoulder five minutes later, breaking her daydream and straightening her posture. Wren slips back into her seat to eagerly continue her colouring, a smile on her lips. 

“Here, tomorrow at four,” Josie responds, glancing up at Yaz with an expression of absolute miserable fatigue. She can’t help but chuckle, fighting the urge to card her fingers through her hair and tell her everything’s going to be okay. She settles for the latter, a flush hinting her cheeks which Josie doesn’t miss. 

“You’re doing really well, Josie. Look how far you’ve come today already!” Yaz praises, and in a small, dormant part of her being, Josie responds in kind, flames stoked and burning in her gut. She has the sudden urge to ask Yaz to stay for the evening, to never leave, if this is what being involved with her feels like. 

Silently cursing her silly brain, Josie can’t resist the smile which curves her lips. When she checks her phone again, having received another ‘thank you’ message from her counterpart, she gasps. “Wait! Crap, I didn’t think — my parents are out of town at the moment, I have no one to look after Wren tomorrow. I’ll just cancel, tell her to scrap it.” 

“Hey, hey, wait —! I’m free tomorrow evening. I can take her, if you like?” Yaz interjects before Josie can unlock her phone, looking at her as though it’s the most obvious thing ever. 

“Are you kidding? I’ve already overstepped the mark so many times today, Yaz. I can’t ask any more from you,” Josie shakes her head, guilt pinching her brows together. “I’d be taking advantage.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’d love to, honestly. I can bring some marking with me and get on with some work, too,” Yaz reassures her, collecting their mugs and cutlery up to place back onto the tray. “It’s better to get this sorted sooner rather than later, don’t you think?” 

Josie gives her a look which is utterly torn, gaze flicking between her daughter and her friend. She’s clutching at straws now. “Isn’t there some kind of rule about spending time with pupils outside of school?” 

“It’s up to me, really, but I think I can make an exception if it makes Wren safer,” Yaz rebukes, slipping her coat back on. There’s a soft smile on her face, unbidden by Josie’s indecision. 

“You’re too good to us, honestly,” Josie sighs, figuring it’s also time for them to get back home. 

“Wren, love, we’re going to go now. Put those in your bag to keep them safe. I’ll put them up on the fridge as soon as we’re home,” Josie ruffles her daughter’s hair, cringing when Wren crumples the pages into her bag with no thought as to the creases she’ll encourage. At her side, she can hear Yaz’s chortle. 

There are grey skies overhead, rain on its way, but a fresh rainbow contrasts against the haze, earning Wren’s squeak of approval from miles off. When they step out into a breeze of welcome cool air, Josie feels a lot more at ease than an hour ago, all thanks to the dark-haired woman at their side. 

“Well, I'd better get back to the school and grab my bike before the cleaners start having joy rides around the corridors. Thank you for your company, you two, and I’ll see you tomorrow, nice and early,” Yaz beams, reaching out to rest a hand against Josie’s shoulder. She gives a squeeze, then pulls back.

“I should be the one thanking _you,_ Yaz. You’ve done so much for us,” Josie fixes her with a desperately grateful look, toying with her coat sleeves. Wren giggles at her side, supposedly thinking about feral cleaners zooming around the school. 

Yaz meets the girl’s gaze with a chuckle of her own. “See you tomorrow, Wren. thank you for being so brave and coming to me today when Callie turned up. You should be really proud of yourself,” she smiles in absolute adoration, about to straighten up before surprisingly strong arms wrap around her neck in a hug. Wren gives her a moment to blink out of her surprise before squeezing, shy laughter tumbling from her lips. 

“Thank you, Mummy’s crush,” she murmurs against her shoulder before she pulls back, grinning up at her bemused teacher with a mix of mischief and glee. “See you tomorrow!”

“You little — rascal,” Josie murmurs from behind her daughter, her words catching on the wind and making her flush. “Come on. Let’s go before you ruin my entire reputation.”

Yaz is still laughing when the two blondes make their way along the street in the opposite direction, a little flummoxed and overwhelmed by the hug. She watches them go with fond amusement, Wren’s words loud and clear. 

“Mummy, why do people turn dumb when they like someone?”

Startled, Josie turns back to ensure the dark-haired woman hasn’t overheard, then promptly flushes scarlet when Yaz simply arches a brow, raising her voice over the sound of cars passing by. “She has a point!”

“I don’t know what you mean, Wr—”

“Mum, watch that lamp post!”


	5. we're just a box of souvenirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saddle up yall its angst time (kinda im too soft to go crazy) thank u to @PrettyYoungKing for betaing this chapter!!!
> 
> tw: alcoholism

Nervousness churns at Josie’s stomach while she finishes up her work at the arcade the following day, cashing up each register multiple times over because she’s too distracted to work through the numbers. 

Ryan rounds to her side, taking one look at her faraway expression and sensing something is wrong. She’d been quiet the whole shift, strangely preoccupied while she fixed machines and handed out prizes with a lack of her usual childish enthusiasm. 

“You know, if you count while you’re shuffling those notes, you’ll get the total quicker,” he remarks playfully, taking stock of each remaining fluffy toy and fidget spinner on display. He notes their numbers down on his clipboard and continues on. 

“Oh, really? I’ve been doing my job wrong this _whole_ time. Perhaps you should take over,” Josie replies slyly, gaze returning to the wad of cash in her hands. 

There’s a bite to her words he hadn’t expected, so he tilts his head, but he’s more worried than hurt. “Sorry, just messing about. You okay, Jo?”

She sighs in frustration — to herself rather than Ryan — and slumps against the counter defeatedly. “No, _I’m_ sorry, Ryan. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s Callie, my ex. I’m meeting up with her later and I really, _really_ don’t know what to expect.”

Considering she’s usually so quiet about her personal life, deciding responsibly to keep work and home life separate, Ryan can’t help but balk slightly at the admission. He leans back against the nearest machine, almost sending it tumbling before he quickly rights it. “You don’t _have_ to meet up with her, do you? No one’s forcing you,” he responds simply, settling his clipboard down. 

Josie shakes her head, scrunching her nose. “Except I pretty much do have to. I don’t genuinely know what she’ll do if I don’t at least give her a chance to explain herself,” she admits dejectedly, returning the cash to a zip-up bag and setting it aside to lean her elbows on the counter. “This is my worst nightmare,” she adds, the words muffled into the fold of her elbow. “If Yaz were here, she’d make me feel better,” she complains, the mere thought of her making her smile. 

“Oh, _cheers,_ mate,” Ryan huffs, folding his arms and raising a brow in protest. 

“You’re great too, Ryan, I promise. I’m just very gay,” she replies candidly, breathing a short laugh he can’t help but return. 

“Well, either way, I hope it all goes okay. When are you next seeing Yaz?” he prompts, busying himself with turning each arcade machine off. 

Josie writes up the cash lift from each till and files the information away, grabbing her coat and her keys to the building. “In… about half an hour, actually, so you’re alright to leave early today. I’ll add another hour on, don’t worry.”

“You’re the _best_ , Josie. Did I ever mention you’re my favourite?” Ryan quips, all but jumping on the spot. He smoothly hops over the counter to grab his belongings, slipping his name badge off and into his pocket. 

“Not enough, no,” Josie teases, checking her phone for any messages. She’s pretty disappointed Callie hasn’t given up and cancelled, but at least it shows she’s serious about this. “You can head off, I’ll lock up.”

“Good luck with this evening. You’ll be fine, mate,” he reassures her, slipping between the rows of machines and tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“Thanks, Ryan. Enjoy your evening!” Once the doors have closed behind him, Josie takes a moment to secure and lock up the most valuable of machinery, then follows suit, the thought of seeing her daughter and her friend motivating her to get back as soon as she can. 

* * *

She’s a whole ten minutes early to Littlewood Primary, in the end, so she loiters around the school gates, fidgety and impatient until children begin flowing from the buildings. When she notices Wren’s class seeping from the doors, she heads in the direction of her art-littered windows and fairy lights, the brightest and most welcoming of all the demountables in sight. 

It probably says something about the woman grinning at her daughter when she wanders in, muttering something about takeaway. “Did I hear someone talking about food?” she quips with a chuckle when Wren spins on the spot, then jogs towards her for a much-needed hug. 

“We were making plans for this evening, actually. Would it be alright if we ordered in? We’ll save some for you, _maybe,”_ Yaz teases playfully, heading over to the whiteboard to wipe away the remnants of the day. 

Josie’s cheeks pinken when she’s gifted to a flash of smooth skin where her blouse raises with the action. She clears her throat quietly, releasing her daughter so she can fetch her rucksack. “Of course. The less healthy, the better, with this one. And she doesn’t have any allergies, so there’s no need to worry about that,” she replies with an amused grin. 

“Except for the red Skittles. Mummy says those are poisonous — that only she can eat them because she’s special,” Wren pipes up, only half-believing the statement. 

Josie can see the way Yaz’s shoulders tremble with silent laughter, encouraging an infectious bout of her own. 

“Oh, really?” Yaz turns, regarding Josie with a sly grin. “You know what? My mum used to say the same thing.”

“Your mum could eat them too?” Wren gasps in disbelief, twisting the strap of her rucksack between her fingers. “She must be special too.”

“She is pretty special, yes,” Yaz answers in earnest, reaching for a stack of paperwork on her desk after sliding her laptop into her bag. “Shall we?”

“Fine by me. Would you like me to carry those? Your bag looks pretty heavy on its own,” Josie offers, motioning towards the pile of papers in her arms. Her tone isn’t condescending — she knows Yaz is perfectly capable, but she’s simply trying to be helpful. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got them,” Yaz quips modestly, giving her classroom another once-over before she turns for the door. “After you,” she steps aside, allowing both blondes to pass through the door first, then twists her keys in the lock. She settles into step with Josie instantly, tucking the stack of work under her arm. She spares a wave and a warm smile to the pupils they pass, aware of Josie’s flushed gaze on her features. She takes a little pride from the stolen glances she notices from the blonde when she thinks she isn’t looking. 

Wren skips a few paces ahead, dragging a pencil she finds in her pocket along the railings at her side. 

“I hope you know she hasn’t stopped talking about spending time with you since we left yesterday,” Josie informs Yaz once they turn the corner, the sound of babbling and laughing children still echoing through from the street behind. “I’m beginning to feel second-best,” she adds in a playful tone, somewhat brighter simply in the presence of the other woman. 

“Really?” Yaz asks, a rosy hue beginning to spread over her cheeks like pink clouds before snowfall. The pavement narrows a touch, causing the accidental brush of her knuckles against Josie’s fingertips. Both women flinch momentarily, a spark dancing between their forms. 

“‘Course. She adores you,” she adds as though it’s the most obvious thing she’s ever said, swinging her hand at her side in the hopes of another brush of warm, smooth skin against her own. She feels fifteen years old again, waiting on the affections of her crush. “It’s pretty hard not t— _Wren,_ do not take that home. We’re not a petting zoo,” she’s distracted mid-sentence by the four year old now brandishing a wriggling, mud-coated worm between her fingertips, leaving Yaz hopeful and a little smug when she forms the rest of her sentence in her mind. 

“I’ve named him Tommy. Can I keep him?” Wren probes anyway, taking in the wriggling form with inquisitive eyes. 

“Never in a million years, kid,” Josie scrunches her nose, motioning to a patch of soil on the pavement at her side. “Put him back, Wren,”

Relenting, Wren gently settles the worm back into the soil, watching it wriggle away in fascination. She offers up a wave, her voice soft, “Goodbye, Tommy.”

“Have a great evening, Tommy,” Yaz adds quietly, amusedly, coaxing a chortle from the blonde at her side. 

By the time they reach the terrace house with a royal blue door, Josie has narrowly escaped inviting a pigeon, three butterflies and a squirrel into her household. She twists the key in the lock and nudges the door open, stepping aside to allow her daughter and their guest in first. “Sorry about the mess,” she apologizes in advance, dropping her keys into the dish on her hallway cabinet. 

There’s a staircase straight ahead and a door to their right, with a small corridor running between them to what Yaz presumes is the garden. There are photos and mismatched prints littering the walls, and, when Wren leads them through the door to the living room, the theme continues. The room is airy and vibrant, splashes of colour from the purple sofa to the pale blue walls giving it a light and open feel. The open-plan living room leads into the adjoining kitchen seamlessly, where the feature wall has been painted light grey and the rest white. A painting of a myosotis takes centre stage. What captures Yaz’s attention most are the knick-knacks dotted around the rooms, from photographs and souvenirs from a well-travelled life to the canvases hung on the walls and the toys taking residence in the corners of the room. Yaz’s favourite detail is a painting of a yellow hot air balloon, hovering over the rolling hills just shy of Sheffield - she can tell by the buildings. There’s a blonde child at the reigns, peeking over the straw basket in excitement. 

“Who painted these?” Yaz questions in genuine interest, the brushstrokes sparking something in her which she’s never quite experienced before. The more she admires it, the more she understands - it’s _love._ Every sweep of the brush is filled with adoration and enjoyment. Then it suddenly makes sense. “Josie, did _you_ paint all of these?”

The blonde in question rocks on her toes, a faint flush to her cheeks and her neck. “Yeah? I’m still learning. I’m just getting back into it after uni all those years ago. I could still do with some more practice, but -” 

“They’re _beautiful_ , Josie. You’re clearly talented. I was wondering where Wren gets it from,” Yaz interrupts, brows still sky-high as she takes in the sight. “I love your house, too. It’s cosy — it sort of reminds me of my old family home,” she notes when she glances back around, gaze landing on the blonde. 

“Thank you,” Josie murmurs bashfully, hands fiddling shyly before her. She’s a little overwhelmed — Yaz is the first proper guest she’s had around since she moved, minus her friendly old next-door neighbour and her parents, so, revealing this part of her family life is a little daunting, like leaning over a candle which hasn’t quite burnt out yet. 

“Yaz, come and look at the fridge!” Wren pipes up enthusiastically, reaching out for Yaz’s hand to all but drag her into the kitchen. 

Honestly, she’s surprised the utility is still standing considering the number of magnets and drawings pinned to its door, making her chuckle in bemusement. “That’s one hell of a collection you’ve got there, Wren. Those all yours?”

With an enthusiastic nod, Wren begins retelling the story of each magnet on display, hopping onto a small stool beside the fridge to point out the highest ones as though conducting a lecture. Yaz can’t help but admire the youngster’s dedication, leaning back against the counter to enjoy the performance. 

With every magnet described and depicted, Josie’s nervousness rises, so she busies herself neatening out the living room by way of distraction. By the time her daughter has finished, Yaz is fully aware of how quiet Josie has grown. 

She’s brought out of her haze when Yaz gently brushes a hand against her shoulder, making her jump momentarily. “Nervous, huh?”

“Terrified, actually,” Josie admits, because she can’t lie when Yaz’s deep brown eyes are so kind and earnest. She glances at her watch, then takes in a deep inhale. “Thirty minutes.”

“That’s plenty of time. Don’t psych yourself up, you’ve got this. You’re in control,” Yaz affirms, boldly reaching for her hand if only to squeeze her fingers. “Now, I have a really important question for you,” she deadpans, then breaks into a small grin, whispering her next words. “Does your daughter have an ‘off’ switch?”

Josie laughs heartily, glancing at Wren while she re-organises the magnets clinging to the fridge. “Unfortunately not, but she usually exhausts herself out somehow. Send her out on the trampoline for five minutes and it’ll knock a few minutes from bedtime, but that’s about it, sorry.” Her features break into a teasing grin at the look Yaz sends her, as though preparing for war. 

They’re laughing between themselves for another few minutes before Josie checks her watch again, lips twisting into a pursed smile. “Anyway, all you need to know is that there’s plenty of food in the fridge if you’re peckish and Wren’s bedtime is usually around six or seven. Don’t let her tell you otherwise. She can be pretty charming when she wants to be,” she warns, reaching for her coat. “Oh! And there’s a spare set of keys in the top drawer of the cabinet in the hallway if you need them.”

Yaz takes the information on board with a hum, reaching for Josie’s coat so the blonde can slip it on with a quick ‘thanks!’.

“Wren, love?” Josie calls for her daughter, who jogs into the room instantly. “I’m going now, so you better behave yourself for Yaz, okay? No mischief and no haggling over bedtime, she knows the score,” she teases, then crouches to the four year old’s level. “Quick hug?”

Wren doesn’t need to be asked twice, leaning up into a winding hug and giving her mother a squeeze. “Have a nice time, mummy. Promise you won’t be too long?” she muffles against her shoulder, leaning back when Josie pulls away to rest her hands on her sides, straightening out her top. 

“I promise. I’ll be back before you know it,” Josie reassures her, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead before pulling back and straightening up. She heads through to the hallway and opens the door, glancing back at Yaz with a nervous twitch to her lips. “If you need anything, just text me. You’ve got my number, right?”

“Might’ve memorised it, yes,” Yaz admits with a coy smirk, leaning in the doorway when Josie steps outside. It’s a foreign feeling, looking after a child she’d only met four days previous, but things had been hectic and intense and they’d formed a bond quickly as a result. “Good luck and be careful, alright?”

“Thanks, Yaz. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll light a flare if I need back-up,” she jokes, though the deer-in-headlights look on her face suggests she might do just that. 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Yaz replies in jest, watching her pad along the garden path and slip through the gate with a touch more courage than she’d shown earlier. 

By the time she disappears back into the house, Wren has set up a station on the coffee table in the living room, glancing up hopefully when Yaz enters. “Do you want to make friendship bracelets?”

* * *

Each step feels like she’s wading through waist-high snow when Josie makes her way back into the main square before the school, jittery and apprehensive and a little panicked to see the brunette already lingering outside the cafe when she arrives. 

“Josie!” Callie exclaims once she’s spotted her wandering over, hands shoved into the pockets of her long jacket. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up,” her tone, relievedly, is about as nervous as Josie’s, and the blonde is pleasantly surprised not to smell alcohol on her breath. 

“Hey. Shall we head inside?” Josie replies mutedly, refusing to meet the other woman’s gaze as though one look could cast a spell. She slips through the door, holding it open for the other woman. 

There’s a table in the corner by the window, just shy of the rest of the customers. Josie slips into a seat there and shrugs off her coat, straightening out her navy blouse. Callie slips her jacket onto the back of her chair but doesn’t sit down just yet. “Tea? Coffee? I’m paying,” she asks the blonde, as though she should thank her for her hospitality. _Wren’s child support wouldn’t go amiss,_ she wants to reply, but holds her tongue. 

“Coffee, please,” she says instead, fingers fumbling atop the table. She watches her stroll up to the counter with the confidence of an a-list celebrity, leather trousers accentuating the sway of her hips. She’s still extremely attractive, features chiselled by the gods above, her figure curvier than the blonde’s, but still slim. She’s wearing a cream shirt, half-tucked in as though she’d just rolled out of bed, and a pair of well-worn combat boots. Her mane of dark hair is half pinned back, the rest tumbling in thick curls over her slight shoulders. Josie can’t say she isn’t still attracted to her, but it’s more of an aesthetic attraction than anything deeper or more emotional. 

Besides, her thoughts don’t linger long enough on her ex before they’re reminded of Yaz, the kind, gorgeous teacher currently waiting back home. Her cheeks flush at the insinuation there, a spark of adrenaline shooting through her veins. 

She’s reluctantly pulled from the depths of her subconscious with Callie’s return to the table, two mugs in hand. She sets Josie’s down before her and slips into the adjacent seat, legs astride. 

There’s an awkward, tense silence while both women try and decide what to say first, the past building a wall between them which only the right words can break down. 

“So, how’ve you b—” Josie starts, cut short by the words falling from Callie’s lips in unison. 

“I’m sor—” Callie can’t help but chuckle, the sound a little sad, a little empty. “Let’s start again. May I go first?”

Josie nods swiftly, adding spoonful after spoonful of sugar to her coffee. Callie still manages to look a touch alarmed at the quantity. 

“Okay, firstly, I’m really, _really_ sorry. And I know that’s far from enough, but I just wanted you to hear it. I’m sorry for choosing _anything_ over you. Both of you. I regretted it straight away, and then — and then you left, so I — sort of — just… gave up. I shouldn’t have, I know that. I shouldn’t have given up so quickly, I should’ve kept on. I should’ve put you first. I’ve regretted it every day since. If I could turn back time and make a different decision, I never would’ve been so selfish,” she admits, curling both palms around her mug and glaring at the steaming liquid inside as though it has personally offended her. 

“So —,” Josie starts, taking a sip from her coffee. “ — why did you? Why did you choose to drink yourself to sleep every night over us? Were we not enough?” she remarks, old, dredged up hurt flashing in her eyes when their gazes meet for the first time. 

Callie swallows thickly, her throat emphasising the action. “No, I — you wouldn’t understand,” she states, then immediately retracts her words when Josie’s pupils burn into her own, frustration clearly on display. “That’s not how I was meant to phrase that, I — what I _mean_ is that I hated my job, I’d ruined my marriage with you over a stupid mistake, and it made me revert back to an old habit. I know it was wrong, but — I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“You ever heard of _talking about it,_ Callie?” Josie snaps through a harsh whisper, anger and disappointment chipping away at her usually calm and collected demeanour. “I was there the whole time, willing and open to hear you out, but you never said anything. You kept it to yourself and you refused every time I asked you to tell me how you were feeling.” The blonde then focuses in on the twitch to Callie’s fingertips which screams withdrawal, another wave of frustration washing over her. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“I’m trying,” Callie interjects, though it’s a wasted effort. She can’t stand the accusation in her eyes, avoiding her gaze and instead staring into the beige abyss between her palms. “It’s hard, Josie. Just because you’re perfect and everything’s turned out for you, it doesn’t mean it’s that easy for everyone else,” she lowers her voice in order to avoid the stares of other customers, her features crumbling gradually with each disapproving look Josie sends her way. It’s as though the former strength she exhibited is now transferring to her counterpart like an invisible current, seeping through the cracks in the space between them. 

“You said that the last time I saw you, Callie. You said you were trying to quit. It’s been _three years._ Has anything changed _at all_?” Josie probes, like poking at a wasps’ nest, awaiting a brewing storm. 

“I’m clean!” Callie bites, wringing her clammy hands at her side momentarily. “Well — at least I was, until yesterday. I saw you drop Rowan off at school, and she’s gotten so grown up now. It hit me pretty hard. Too hard,” she admits on a sigh, and for once, Josie can almost believe her. She’s still seething, though. 

“So you’re blaming it on my daughter now?” she remarks on a disbelieving laugh, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive manner. 

“No! No, of course not. What I mean is that I _have_ been trying, but everyone slips up from time to time. I was six months clean until yesterday,” she exhales slowly, then takes a sip of her coffee to ease the dryness clinging to her throat. 

“I believe you, but if I find out that’s a lie, I will not be held accountable for my actions,” Josie shakes her head, torn between falling for every word she says and doing everything in her sane mind to doubt her. She cards her fingers through her hair, sending wisps of blonde messily falling out of place. 

“You’re still as protective as always. You haven’t changed a bit,” Callie thinks aloud, her tone fond, reminiscent of happier days. Her features are hidden by the veil of dark hair falling from her shoulders, curtaining her face while she eyes her beverage, so Josie doesn’t notice the gentle smile lacing her rouge-painted lips. 

“And you still dress like a pirate. I guess some things never change,” she retorts, their banter quick and easy, some of their old connections slipping through. 

When Callie laughs, memories flood back through Josie’s mind like a dam has burst behind her eyes, reminding her of the early days of her pregnancy when Callie would cater to her every need and dote on her growing stomach. She pinches at the bridge of her nose to try and keep her eyes from conveying her emotions so clearly, disguising the sudden onslaught with a sip of her coffee. 

“So, what’s brought you back here?” she finally questions, swallowing a lump in her throat. 

“I haven’t slept since I stopped drinking. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to have another chance, with Rowan, with… you,” Callie reveals, the last words striking a surprising cord with the blonde, who frowns thoughtfully. “I regret it all, the — the affair, letting you go, missing out on watching Rowan grow up. All of it,” she continues, using her hands to gesture, her pupils glossy and earnest. “I’ve missed you,”

Josie has to repeat her words through her mind a few times before she can summon a response, twisting her fingers together, picking paint from the corners of her nails. “I’m flattered, honestly, but I can’t and I won’t go through that again, not with you, at least. I don’t miss you — not like that — anymore. I did, for a short time, but I’m better now. I’m really good, actually.”

Callie nods as though she’d been expecting such a response, a sigh filtering through her lips. She’s more disappointed in herself than the blonde before her, who seems brighter, more humbled and bubbly than she ever did during their marriage. “You don’t miss me at all?” she reaches out tentatively, resting a hand over her ex-wife’s fiddling fingers and meeting her gaze. She flutters her lashes and wets her lips experimentally, noting the blush to her cheeks. Her voice is a low purr, fingertips bumping over her knuckles. “You don’t miss the way I used to touch you?”

“Callie, don’t,” Josie warns, slipping her hand from her grasp and sitting back in her seat when she starts a game of footsie beneath the table. “ _Callie,_ please tell me you didn’t come all the way here and act like you want a relationship with my daughter as an excuse to revive an old flame.” 

Wilting, Callie pulls back, settling once more. She drains the rest of her mug and fights to quell the burning in her gut. “No! No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Wait — what do you mean?” Josie balks, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water. 

“The pretty teacher from yesterday. She’s your girlfriend, right?” the brunette queries as though it’s obvious, a perfect brow raised in speculation when Josie seems suitably wordless. “ _Oh,_ so she isn’t yet but you want her to be?”

“I barely know her,” Josie declares in a small voice, feeling as though she should protect her somewhat, keep her hidden, keep her to herself. It’s selfish, but at the minute, she doesn’t wish to share Yaz with anyone else. 

“You haven’t said no,” Callie points out, tilting her head curiously. Jealousy builds like a storm in her dark pupils, twisting her lips into a sly smirk. 

“Can we get back on the topic at hand, please?” Josie pleads, sliding her cup aside after enduring a mouthful of cold coffee. “You were saying something about Rowan?”

“Yes, Rowan,” Callie drawls with a playful roll of her eyes which irks the other woman. “I want to ask for another chance; a chance to get to know her, to see what she’s like.”

Josie’s lips curl into a thoughtful frown, brows pinching in the middle. “You have to promise me something before I even think about letting you meet her,” she implores, checking the time on her watch. She’d better be heading back soon, not because it’s late, but because she’s already exhausted from their encounter and she wouldn't mind seeing Yaz again. 

“Yes?” Callie holds onto her every word, hope dancing in her pupils. 

“You have to stay clean for another month first,” Josie states, the promise non-negotiable. 

“I have to wait another month to see her?” Callie argues with a huff, every bit the spoilt only child she was raised as. 

“What’s one month in comparison to three years?” Josie bites back in retort, words harsh enough to leave Callie frankly a little chastised, as though her mother had just told her off for taking too many biscuits from the tin. 

“It’s a deal,” she agrees with a swift nod, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I promise.” 

“That settles it, then. Let me know if you change your mind,” Josie claps her hands together and reaches for her jacket, slipping it over her shoulders. She pushes back her chair and begins slipping through the chairs and tables to the door of the cafe, feeling a whole lot stronger than when she entered an hour or two earlier. 

Callie is hot on her heels, sliding her leather jacket on and slipping through the door in her shadow. “Josie, wait!” she calls, reaching out to grasp her hand and draw her back. Josie almost recoils, but the desperate look on Callie’s face confuses her enough for her to be dragged down the narrow alley behind the cafe.

“Callie, what are you d—” Her words are caught behind the pressure of soft, familiar lips, the brunette’s hands taking purchase on her cheeks while she moves against her experimentally, as though testing the waters. Josie is so shocked she doesn’t react until Callie drops a hand to her hip, her tongue fighting for entrance against unmoving lips. She reaches for the lapels of her jacket to push her away, the foul taste of mistrust lingering on her tongue. 

“If you try that again, you’ve lost your chance completely,” Josie spits, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand while Callie hangs her head dejectedly. “Go home and work on sobering up, Callie.” She turns, straightening out her blouse, and heads in the direction of her house, her mind reeling with an impending headache.


	6. i'm unprepared (i've never felt like this)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you very much to my beta @clickofthecollar!! and enjoy!!

Yaz looks up from her place on the couch when she hears the front door click open and close just as quietly. The clock on the wall reads twenty minutes past six, and Wren, tired out from a trampolining contest in the garden and a whole lot of takeaway food, is nestled at her side, slumber chipping away at her subconscious. 

When Josie pokes her head around the door to the living room, Yaz raises a finger to her lips with an amused smile. “She dropped off half-way through _Finding Nemo_ ,” she whispers, earning a smile of affection from the blonde when she takes in the sight. 

Wren has her thumb tucked between her lips, legs curled up beneath her while her head rests against Yaz’s shoulder. The sight is enough to soften the toughest of hearts. 

“Don’t worry, she’s a heavy sleeper,” Josie chuckles quietly, moving to lift her into her arms. She jostles slightly, but otherwise simply slumps against her form, giving a faint hum to acknowledge her mother’s presence. “I’ll just take her up to bed. Be right back.”

Yaz takes in the exhaustion lacing Josie’s features and wonders if she should send her up to bed, too. “Let me help. You look dead on your feet,” she remarks quietly, picking up Wren’s favourite soft toy and following behind the blonde. 

“Oh, cheers,” Josie retorts playfully as she ascends the stairs, glancing back with a faint smirk. 

At the top of the stairs, Josie nudges Wren’s bedroom door open with her foot, motioning to the switch beside her bed so Yaz can turn her rainbow night-light on. It illuminates her room in a soft, faint glow. 

Peeling back the sheets, Josie settles the dozing blonde down atop her mattress, then draws star-dusted covers up to her chin. She leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, then straightens up. Then, Yaz pads over, tucking her soft elephant toy into the sheets at her side. “Night, Wren,” she whispers, bumping shoulders with the other woman.

Josie’s heart flutters. “Now let’s escape before she wakes up and expects a bedtime story,” she murmurs conspiratorially, silently retreating from the room until the door is to their backs. It’s only then, under the soft golden light of her hallway, she spots the flamboyant makeup painted over Yaz’s features by what she presumes is a four year old with a wild imagination and not enough control over it. “Love the new look, by the way.” 

Yaz takes a moment to remember why the blonde is now chuckling quietly, leading the way down the stairs, before it clicks and she flushes pink. “Oh! I totally forgot that happened. Honestly, we had to have a trampolining contest just to take her down a notch,” Yaz muses in amusement, reaching up to touch her fingertips to her cheeks and feel a layer of pure glitter clinging to the skin there. 

“The last time I let her do my makeup she used a permanent marker instead of eyeliner and gave me a moustache for a week,” Josie deadpans, then splits into a grin. 

Yaz is grateful they’ve made it downstairs by this point because her laughter is infectious and hearty. It’s music to Josie’s ears. Yaz slips through into the living room after Josie and begins collecting up her things, not wishing to overstay her welcome. 

Josie falters for a minute in the entranceway between the living room and the kitchen, leaning against the wall. “Wait, hang on. Do you want to — I don’t know — stay for a cuppa?” she asks shyly, mutedly, toying with the sleeve of her blouse. 

“Yes! I mean — sure, I’d love to, if that’s alright?” By the tired look in Josie’s eyes — and not just physically, she could do with some company, someone to talk to, and Yaz would never deny her that. In addition, her purple sofa is far too inviting to resist. 

“Brilliant. I’ll pop the kettle on, make yourself comfy,” She slips behind the counter, flicking the switch on the kettle and fetching two mugs. From her position, she can see Yaz settling down into the sofa once more, the sight a welcome change from evenings spent alone with her racing thoughts. There’s a tremor to her fingertips while she stirs in milk and sugar, a reminder of the presence she’d occupied earlier. 

Yaz is patient in her quest to encourage Josie to open up, to feel, to be felt, sinking into the couch to wait politely for her return. Idly, she takes a pack of wipes from her bag to clean away the makeup and … googly eyes? — which paint her skin.

“So, how was your evening?” Josie questions on the way back over, two mugs settled in her hands. She sets them down on the coffee table and takes a seat next to her counterpart, far enough away to boast respect, but close enough to feel the warmth emanating from her form. “I hope Wren wasn’t too lively.”

“It was… actually one of the best evenings I’ve had in a while. She’s a proper superstar, Josie. It might’ve taken a while to calm her down, but she’s such a sweetheart,” Yaz gushes, turning her body to better face the blonde, crossing one leg over the other and sending a beaming smile her way. She raises a hand, presenting the purple and blue interweaved strings of her bracelet. “Also, not to brag, but she even made me a friendship bracelet,” she adds, fluttering her lashes in a teasing fashion. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Josie huffs playfully, reaching out to take a sip from her coffee. She tucks her legs up beneath herself, polka dot socks hugging her feet. The movement draws her a touch closer, her free hand bumping Yaz’s knee. When she has no other teasing remarks to offer, Yaz studies her features, noting the downward pull of her lips, the glossy sheen over her eyes, the way she keeps glancing off into the middle distance. She can hear the cogs turning in her brain, racing a mile a minute. 

“Do you want to talk about this evening?” Yaz tries, giving her a chance to say no, to back out and keep her distance — they really haven’t known each other long, but she considers Josie as her closest friend already. It’s strange how turmoil can bring people together in such a short time. “You don’t have to, but I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Josie looks a little torn, a little indecisive, but she seems to make her mind up eventually. She breathes the softest of sighs, fingers toying with the hem of her top, looking for something to occupy them, to distract them. When she glances towards Yaz’s open hand, laid in her lap, as though she yearns for something she can’t have, Yaz’s heartstrings are pulled taught. 

Yaz reaches out before she can think, curling her fingers around the other woman’s fidgeting ones and immediately halting their movements. Her breath catches at the sudden change, but when Josie’s lips turn upwards slightly and she curls her fingers around Yaz’s, she sighs in relief. 

“She told me she wanted me back,” Josie murmurs, words laced with something Yaz can’t quite decipher. 

The younger woman’s reaction is immediate, though, a sense of dread enveloping her form and tearing between the gaps in their entwined hands until her chest begins to ache and her feet yearn to run straight through the door. Then confusion sets in — why does she feel so strongly? Why does she _feel_ a certain way about the situation at all? Something in her subconscious falls, like a penny dropping. 

“And what do _you_ want, Josie?” Yaz responds through the haze her thoughts encumber upon her mind, leaving her reeling. Her fingers lighten around Josie’s, but Josie chases her touch, confusion painting her brows. 

“Honestly? I don’t want her in any other way than as an acquaintance,” the blonde derails her counterpart’s trail of thought, leaving her blinking in surprise at her side profile. “Which is — I don’t know. It feels better, with closure, but it also feels as though a whole part of my life is almost — it’s almost as if it wasn’t worth anything. All those years we were together, gone, so quickly. But then — never mind, it sounds silly,” Josie releases the anxieties raiding her mind like a suddenly quenched waterfall, as though thinking aloud, her words trailing after her calculations. 

“Hey, hey. I won’t judge, promise,” Yaz reassures her, the clutch around her heart loosening until all she can feel is the dull ache which usually resonates in the company of her friend. 

“Do you believe in fate, Yaz?” Josie questions quietly, gaze finally levelling out with Yaz’s. She gnaws at her bottom lip briefly, thinking, theorising, calculating. “As though your life has a path already paved for you? Which you just have to follow?”

“To an extent, yes. Why?” Yaz is caught in the crossfire of green pupils, unable to look away, unable to move her limbs. A soul, trapped and rendered too weak to resist a pretty woman with warm eyes and a kind heart. 

“She kissed me, afterwards —” Josie starts, noting the sudden shift in Yaz’s expression with mild curiosity. “ — and I pushed her away, told her never to do that again. But the thing is, while she was, y’know —” she has to stop to regain her train of thought, swallowing heavily, because Yaz just licked her lips and caught the blonde’s eyes follow the movement. “ — I had an epiphany. Sort of. And I think it’s time for me to stop feeling so guilty about doing things I want to do, or — or people I want to do — no, wait, that sounded way better in my head,” she stammers, taking a moment to compose herself. Her cheeks are burning and her fingers have turned a little clammy between Yaz’s, but she doesn’t mind. 

Yaz simply blinks into her emerald green eyes, head tilted slightly as though trying to translate her words into a more understandable language. Hope dances across her features and weaves between the vessels of her beating heart, but she quells it, as always, preparing herself for a scenario she knows all too well. 

“What I mean is that, while Callie was trying to spark something which is long gone, all I could think about, at that moment, was —” Josie inhales sharply, glancing down at their hands, then back up, as though trying to somehow filter her thoughts through Yaz’s mind without actually saying anything. At times like this, she wishes touch telepathy was a reality. “ — starting something new. With someone new. One person in particular, actually.”

“Wait. Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but do you mean — you’re — you like someone else? And it’s Callie who made you realise?” Yaz probes, the dimples in her cheeks making an appearance when she smiles curiously. 

Josie rests her free hand atop their interlocked fingers, cold coffees sitting long forgotten at the table. “That’s right, yes.”

“Is it someone I know?” Yaz queries, although the look in Josie’s eyes answers her question instantly.

“Yes! You know her more than anyone, in fact,” Josie is smiling by now, a goofy, bashful smile which indents her cheeks and scrunches her nose. 

Yaz can’t help but fall into the same trap, a slow smile twitching at the corners of her lips until she, too, looks like an utter idiot. “Oh, yeah? Well, I might’ve spoken to her recently,” Yaz drawls, pausing for effect. “And she might just be on the same wavelength.”

Josie has to glance away, then, for fear of losing herself in pools of deep brown. She ducks her head slightly, soft blonde locks falling forward to curtain her features while she gathers what little courage remains. Yaz reaches out, emboldened, to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, where her ear cuff catches the low light. 

They’re both a little shy, a little dopey, a little nervous, but it’s Yaz who breaks the thoughtful quiet first. “So, what do we think of Wren’s clairvoyant powers, then?”

The tension seeps from the room in an instant when Josie laughs, heartedly and amusedly, igniting Yaz’s own flurry of giggles. 

“Honestly, it’s quite worrying how much she picks up on before I do. Maybe I should start listening to her jokes more often,” Josie chortles, settling back into the sofa with a somewhat relieved sigh. There’s still apprehension swirling in her gut, but she’s pretty proud of herself for making the first move, for admitting her crush to the woman herself. 

Yaz feels fifteen again, blushing and giggling at every word the other woman says as though there’s no one on the planet as funny. She’s taken to toying with Josie’s fingers between them, thumb-wars beginning and ending with Yaz as the clear winner. 

“Seeing as it’s still not too late, would you want to, maybe, watch a film or something? Or listen to some music? I have a vinyl collection which hasn’t seen the light of day for a while…” Josie breathes as though to continue her list of ideas, but Yaz stops her in her tracks with a chuckle. 

“I do actually have quite a lot of marking to do, sorry, but it won’t take long and I usually listen to music while I’m working, so… what’s the collection like?” Yaz compromises, but Josie shows no hint of annoyance. If anything, she spots admiration flash across her features. 

“Well,” she starts, breaking contact with her hand and immediately mourning the loss. She hops squarely over the back of the couch and rubs her hands together in enthusiasm. “We have Arctic Monkeys, Nirvana, Fleetwood Mac, the Peppa Pig soundtrack…” she scrunches her nose at that last one, sending Yaz a comical look from where she’s crouched beside the shelves filled with records. 

“As much as I’d _love_ to listen to the Peppa Pig soundtrack, I think I’ll go with Fleetwood Mac,” Yaz replies, deadpan, leaving Josie to snort into her open palm.

“Brilliant choice, Yaz,” Josie praises through laughter, sliding the record from its cover and settling it on the player. 

While her friend-turned-huge-crush is occupied, Yaz reaches for the pile of books she’d lugged around all day, slipping a pen from her bag and relaxing into the sofa. As the first verse of _Rhiannon_ hums through the room quietly, Josie heads back over to collect their mugs of cold coffee. 

“Fancy another coffee? Or tea? Or something stronger?” the blonde asks politely, idly admiring the lines between Yaz’s brows when she’s concentrating, the way her tongue pokes between her lips when she encounters something she can’t quite interpret. 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Yaz murmurs over Stevie Nicks’ crooning voice, beginning to bob her head along while she goes over the variety of ways her pupils have begun to spell their names on paper. Some are indecipherable, so she notes the names down for future reference and reminds herself to pay extra attention to those struggling. When she gets to Wren’s, of course, it’s perfect, the name ‘Wren’ written alongside a small doodle of the bird in question. Yaz laughs endearingly. 

Josie hums along to the music while she fixes them up a cup of tea each, steps falling alongside the beat of the song when she pads back over. She settles down on the couch beside Yaz and glances curiously over her work, dropping an arm to rest along the back of the couch, her thumb brushing Yaz’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Yaz glances up from her work to think, sending Josie an apologetic look. “Not really, no, but it shouldn’t take me long anyway, I promise.” 

Josie smiles a little dopily in response, leaving Yaz to chuckle into the crease of the exercise book in her hands. “Not a problem. I might get on with some sketching, actually,” she murmurs, reaching for one of many sketchpads littered around the room. She reaches for a pencil, then, sitting back against the arm of the chair and turning her body in Yaz’s direction, clothed toes bumping against her thigh clumsily. “Oops, sorry,” she whispers, flicking through to an empty page and allowing graphite to outline the other woman’s side-profile. 

Yaz is oblivious until she nears the end of her work and Josie is enraptured by the curve of her nose, the end of her pencil resting against her bottom lip. She doesn’t even seem to notice Yaz glancing in her direction curiously, instead beginning to note the soft flush to her cheeks. 

It’s only when she raises her gaze to Yaz’s eyes that she flushes scarlet, swallowing thickly, throat bobbing. Stevie Nicks simmers to a slow murmur around them. 

“Are you — are you drawing me?” Yaz questions, setting the books aside in favour of taking a closer look. Josie cards the fingers of one hand through her hair, the other shielding the drawing from view. 

“Possibly,” Josie can’t help but smirk, leaning back, raising the sketchbook out of her way. The colour dusting her cheeks sinks down to her neck and chest, but she’s giggling like an idiot with too much coffee in their system. 

“Let me see!” Yaz chides playfully, reaching out but falling short. She settles a hand on Josie’s shoulder as if to hold her down while she grasps for the open book. When all else fails, she all but leaps, knees nudging against Josie’s hips when she finally takes hold of the drawing. She keeps her stance if only to keep Josie from snatching it back, but she’s momentarily made speechless by the perfect lines before her eyes. “Oh, my God, _Josie,”_ she breathes, jaw hanging slightly. She settles back on her heels, albeit a lot closer to the blonde than previously, to properly admire the drawing. 

Josie’s heart races at the proximity, as well as the look Yaz keeps sending her way, full of wonder and pride and admiration. It’s almost too much to take. 

“You have some serious talent here. People need to see this, Josie,” Yaz praises, fuelling the fire burning in Josie’s chest until she’s a little dazed. She shifts, crossing her legs beneath herself, her knee resting atop Yaz’s thigh. She doesn’t apologise this time. 

“Maybe one day. I’m still learning. Plus, you’re the perfect model,” she murmurs, words laced with childlike bashfulness. Since when was it so hard to string a sentence together? “A sketch is only as flawless as its muse.” 

Yaz blinks in surprise, lifting her gaze from the sketch in her hands to the green hues she’s become so accustomed to. She’s closer than she thought, especially when she lowers the sketch to the sofa beside them. “Was that a compliment?”

“Yes — sorry, I’m not very good at the whole, y’know — talking thing, especially when you’re near,” Josie admits, lashes fluttering when Yaz reaches out to brush a lock of hair from her eyes. She’d left it to grow out a little more recently, but it still manages to obscure her vision frequently. When Yaz’s fingertips brush her cheek with the action, she can’t help the shaky inhale which sounds between them. 

The record slows to a stop. 

Yaz’s gaze drops to the puckered curve of her top lip, a slow smile spreading on her features when she notices the blonde inching closer, too, studying her features for hesitation. 

Josie wanders, nervously, what Yaz tastes like, how her lips feel, how they move. Is she a passionate kisser? Or is she delicate? Does she map out every inch available or does she simply look for what she wants and take it? 

Their noises bump together, heads tilting, hearts racing, fingers twitching, breaths mingling.

A door opens to their right. 

“Mummy?” Wren’s voice breaks through the haze, the gentle movements, their own piece of paradise. 

Josie swallows thickly, blinking away the dark sheen to her pupils and straightening up reluctantly. “Wren, love? What’s up?”

Yaz pulls back to clear her throat, standing to take in the sight of the tearful youngster clutching her elephant and biting down on a trembling bottom lip. She immediately slips from the couch and rounds to the doorway, crouching down to her level. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

Josie joins her in seconds, though Yaz can tell by the look on her face that she knows the answer already. “Nightmare?” 

Wren nods, giving a faint sniffle. She looks a little lost when she glances between the two women, another tear tumbling down her cheek. “Can I stay down here for a bit?” 

“‘Course you can,” Yaz affirms after a quick check with her mother, opening her arms to the scared little girl who has successfully managed to win her heart thirteen times over. Wren slips into her arms with a sigh, curling her own around Yaz’s neck when she lifts her. 

“Let me fetch her some water,” Josie mouths, disappearing into the kitchen to retrieve her daughter’s favourite star-dusted beaker. 

Yaz settles back down on the sofa, thoughts still a touch hazy when she sits Wren down in her lap. She reaches out to gently card her fingers through her hair, light and gentle. “Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?”

Wren leans into her touch, hugging her soft toy to her chest to anchor her thoughts to the present. “There was a monster under my bed. He was trying to get me,” she reveals, voice strained with anxiety. 

“Oh, Wren. You know what? I used to have the exact same dream when I was little. It was really scary,” she murmurs softly, feeling the couch shift when Josie perches down beside her again, cup in hand. 

Wren accepts the drink gratefully, taking a sip before she turns her attention back to Yaz. “How did you make it go away?” she asks innocently, hopefully, breaking Yaz’s heart all over again. 

“My mum helped me, actually. She used to plait my hair while I told her what happened, then she’d come to my room, take a look under my bed, and say ‘you really think a monster would want to smell that many dirty pairs of socks?’” Yaz chimes, thriving off the laughter her anecdote draws from the little girl. 

Even Josie can’t hold back a chortle, reaching out to take a sip from her lukewarm tea. She watches on in smitten adoration at their interactions, smiling to herself at the thought of many evenings spent like this in the future. 

“Can you plait my hair, please, Yaz?” Wren asks politely, her blonde, wavy locks reaching the bottom of her shoulder blades. 

Yaz slips a spare hairband from her wrist and grins, warm and loving and entirely too kind for her own good. “Of course, sweetheart. I’d love to. Do you reckon you can stay still for me?” 

“Yes! I’ll try,” Wren promises, feet kicking in excitement. 

Happy that her daughter is now distracted from the reason she’d scampered downstairs in the first place, Josie makes herself useful, turning the television on. She flicks through the channels until the newest _Spider-Man_ film appears, which she leaves on for Wren’s benefit. 

Yaz starts with three segments of hair, interweaving and adding strands as she goes along until a perfectly neat plait falls over Wren’s shoulder, held together by a pink bobble. 

“That’s gorgeous, Yaz,” Josie grins, capturing the moment in the gallery behind her pupils so she can sketch it out later. Her fingers itch to do so. 

Wren is beaming and delighted with Yaz’s handiwork, bobbing her head to flick the plait from each shoulder. She reaches up to feel the bumps and weaves of her hairstyle with a giggle. “I love it! Yaz, you’re the best!” She turns if only to smother Yaz in a squeezing hug. “Mummy? Can we keep her?” 

Josie bursts into a flurry of laughter, reaching out to tickle at the bottom of her daughter’s feet. “She’s not _ours,_ Wren, but I’d agree, she _is_ the best,” she proclaims, pulling her hand away when Wren shuffles back into Yaz’s lap. 

“Shh, mummy. _Spider-Man_ ’s on,” Wren quips playfully, seemingly distracted already. She leans back against Yaz’s chest with a sleepy grin, leaving Yaz to relax back into the couch and settle her hands around the girl’s tummy to keep her in place.

“Yeah — shush, Josie,” Yaz adds, earning a faux-shocked look from the blonde, who huffs playfully. 

Energy wains and fatigue kicks in less than half an hour later, leaving Wren dozing once more in the safe hold of Yaz’s arms. Yaz, herself, seems to be giving into the tempting hands of slumber, her lashes fluttering in a series of slow blinks Josie finds absolutely endearing. Reaching out, she gently touches her hand to her shoulder, rousing the dark-haired woman as tenderly as possible. 

“Seems as though she’s tired you out today, Yaz,” Josie whispers on a chuckle, smiling warmly when the other woman regains her composure, gently sweeping her fingers through the sleeping girl’s hair. 

“Me? Tired? Not at all,” Yaz shrugs the suggestion off before a yawn rolls from her lips. She turns to the blonde to receive an ‘I told you so’ look, and breathes a chided laugh. “Okay, maybe a bit,” she admits, glancing at the handmade clock on the wall adjacent. “Is it really that late? Wow, time flies, huh?” 

“I should probably take her up. And hey, if it makes it easier for you, you could always — y’know, stay over? It’s pretty dark out, but — obviously it’s your choice. No pressure,” Josie gently eases Wren into her hold, feeling her slump against her in exhaustion. She stands there for a moment, gauging her response. 

“You know what? I would love to, _but_ I promised my mum I’d spend the day with her tomorrow. I hardly see her now I’ve moved out, so I can’t really miss this,” Yaz replies apologetically, earnest and torn. 

“Hey, hey, it’s cool. It was just a thought, no problem,” Josie shrugs gently, grinning infectiously over the top of Wren’s head. 

“I’ll just pack everything up while you’re tucking her in, then I should really be on my way,” Yaz discloses, although reluctance flashes in her eyes. She pads over to brush a hand over Wren’s shoulder. “Goodnight, Wren.”

When a muffled hum melts against Josie’s shoulder in response, Yaz laughs. 

“Back in a tick,” Josie quips, slipping from the room and padding carefully up the stairs. When she tucks her daughter between the sheets, a few minutes later, she presses a kiss to her forehead and breathes in her usual scent — but there’s something mixed in with it, the smell of coconut shampoo and something which must simply be _Yaz._ She revels in the source, lips brushing the child’s hairline. “Thanks for being such a star, today, Wren. And thank you for always being so right about people. Goodnight, love.” 

She closes her bedroom door with a soft, happy sigh, as though reaping the rewards of a day’s hard work. When she returns to the living room, she finds Yaz slipping on her coat and continuing to admire the sketch laid on the coffee table. 

“You can take it if you like?” Josie offers shyly, pink dusting her cheeks. She pads over to slip the page from its place in the book, tearing neatly. “But don’t tell Wren. She’d probably use it for a shrine, she worships you so much,” she teases, encouraging Yaz to snigger into an open palm. She accepts the art anyway, folding it up to slip into her bag. 

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I love your art, Josie. I’m starting a mission, from now, to prove you should be doing this professionally,” she states, nodding her head as though silently agreeing with herself. She heaves her books into her arms and lets Josie lead the way to her front door. 

“You’re too good to me — have I mentioned that before?” Josie retorts, unlocking and opening the door, lingering there as Yaz adjusts her hold and steps outside. “Are you sure I can’t call you a cab or anything? Or walk you home?” she queries in concern, already reaching for her mobile. 

“Believe it or not, I actually only live about ten minutes down the road, so it’s really no problem,” Yaz assures her, the same fizzling, tingling feeling returning to her lips and her fingers. She sets her bag down beside her just to straighten out her coat, but takes a step forward, too, leaving the blonde trembling and burning up like a livewire. “Goodnight, Josie. Thank you for this evening,” Yaz states, reaching out to brush their hands together. “I hope it’s not the last time we hang out like this?” she questions, then, tentative and bashful, aware she might just be stepping over the mark. 

“Not if I can help it,” Josie answers, emboldened by the darkening tint to Yaz’s pupils, the way her fingers twitch and curl around her own. “Goodnight, Yaz. I’ll see you on Monday, nice and early. Get home safe, okay?”

“I promise. I’ll text you as soon as I’m in,” she purrs, leaning on her toes to press a reverent kiss against Josie’s cheek, which begins burning, hot and fiery, in seconds. 

She walks down the garden path and onto the street beyond with a gleeful smile on her lips, which doesn’t fade until her head hits the pillow an hour or so later. 

Likewise, Josie’s cheek scorches and tingles until she’s curled up later that night, thoughts racing a mile a minute with only one topic interlinking them: sweet, gentle, kind-hearted _Yaz._


	7. what goes unsaid (doesn't go unheard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my fab beta @clickofthecollar !! who also had to go through this whole thing and delete every second line break after every single paragraph, you're welcome btw timelxdy

_ Got home safe! Thanks for this evening and have a lovely weekend! x _

_ Brilliant! You too, Yaz. Have a good one! x _

* * *

Josie sets her phone down and pads around to her chest of drawers to fetch her pyjamas, pale pink silk blending in with the pastel tones of her skin. She slips beneath the sheets of her bed and lies back, thinking over the very lows of her day in contrast to the way she’s feeling now; light, airy and buzzing with nervous anticipation. A simple crush has never thrown her quite so far into the abyss before, leaving her thoughts scrambled and hazy but in the best way possible. 

When slumber eventually creeps over her, she dreams of full, parted lips, and how they mould against her own in a passionate display of affection. She dreams of soft hands, coaxing sounds and sensations and curses from her writhing form, feelings and urges she hasn’t felt in so long rising to the surface to leave her clammy and breathless and flushed come morning. 

She’s doomed, she concludes, when she peels the sheets back in the early hours of the morning, the house still quiet, and works to extinguish the fire burning to life in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes close as she recounts the dream which fuelled it in the first place. Her hand slips, smoothing over the slightly puckered, blemished skin of her stomach to where she craves it most. 

Lost amidst a sea of bliss, she has only one name on her lips. 

* * *

Yaz stirs the next morning to an unfamiliar warmth in her chest and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. She lazes around for longer than necessary, grateful for the lie-in she can solely enjoy on weekends if only so she can imagine a familiar presence at her side, soft and warm and brimming with affection. 

Connecting up to the speaker in the corner of her room, Yaz queues  _ Fleetwood Mac _ ’s  _ Greatest Hits  _ to welcome in the new day, smiling to herself like a fool when it triggers memories from the night prior. She gets changed and heads through her apartment to the kitchen, her speaker replaced with earbuds while she flicks the kettle on and makes up some cereal. 

Her mum should be on her way by now, so she readies two mugs of tea before digging into her breakfast.

She’s humming along to the slow croon of  _ Landslide  _ when there’s a knock at her door, followed by the jittering of keys. Najia Khan makes her way inside as though she lives there, but she pads through to the kitchen with a warm smile and open arms, and Yaz suddenly doesn’t feel so peeved. 

“Long time no see, love,” she murmurs when Yaz slips from her perch and greets her embrace eagerly, curling her arms around her neck and squeezing. She smells of home, and Yaz momentarily yearns to return. “How’ve you been?” 

“Really good, actually. It feels like ages since I’ve seen you, though. I’ve missed you,” she lengthens the hug just a touch longer, giving one more squeeze, then pulls back. 

Her mother’s hands rest on her forearms, taking in her features with a curious smile. “The new job must be doing something for you, you’re practically  _ glowing.  _ Wait — have you met someone?”

At this point, it really shouldn’t surprise Yaz that this is the first conclusion her mother comes to, but now that she’s actually right about her presumption, Yaz doesn’t quite know what to say. “I’m just really enjoying it, Mum. I  _ love  _ the kids, they’re all so sweet. There’s only a couple of boisterous ones, but I reckon I can handle them.”

Najia beams, genuine delight lacing her features at the knowledge her daughter is happy and succeeding, despite the fact she hasn’t magically eloped and had children in the space of a week. As far as she knows, that is. “That’s great to hear, love. Made any new friends?” She’s moved to the kettle now, working on instinct to pour boiling water into two mugs as though she were at home. 

“Yeah! All the other teachers are really friendly and there’s a couple of us who are new, so I don’t feel so left out. Some of the parents are really great, too,” Yaz muses, her thoughts beginning to drift to one parent in particular. Najia can tell her mind is occupied by the dopey look on her face but decides to leave it for now. 

“And how’s that ancient bike working out for you?” Najia quips teasingly, a spoonful of sugar dissolving into each mug. 

“It’s not ancient, Mum, and it’s  _ fine _ , thank you,” Yaz chides, leaning an elbow on the counter so she can rest her chin in her palm. Once their teas have been made, Najia slides one over. “Thanks. Anyway, how’s the family been?” 

“Your father’s still on his conspiracy fix, so the kitchen looks more like a rubbish dump every day. And Sonya’s heading back to university soon, if she can look up from her phone for long enough,” Najia replies, pulling a face at the latter comment. “Oh! Before I forget, your dad made too much pakora last night, so there’s leftovers here you can freeze.” Before Yaz can argue, Najia rounds to the freezer and slips the container into a drawer, turning back to be greeted with a faint huff. 

“You know I’m perfectly capable of cooking for myself, right?” Yaz argues playfully, though there’s an earnest hint to her tone. 

“I know, I know, but it means Sonya and I don’t have to eat it,” her mother responds, smirking through a laugh. 

Yaz can’t help but chuckle in return, taking a sip from her tea and narrowing her brows at the other woman in faux-annoyance. She’d missed her mother a lot in the last few weeks while preparing for her new job, so she’s looking forward to a rare day of easy banter and bonding before work picks up and she’ll have less time to spare. 

* * *

As it turns out, so does the rest of Sheffield’s population, who congregate in the streets of Sheffield city centre in their hoards. Perhaps the nice weather is to blame, or maybe it’s because Yaz doesn’t shop for the sake of it very often. 

Either way, she’d avoided purchasing new clothes for a while, so it’s an opportunity to update her wardrobe with her mother’s reliable (but sometimes too critical) advice. 

Yaz is loitering around a section of patterned blouses when she first senses eyes on her, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end and goosebumps dotting the skin of her arms. She turns to find empty space, then shakes her head to clear her thoughts. 

Najia plucks a star-dusted blouse from the rail which she accepts in delight. 

The second time Yaz feels as though she’s being watched, she twirls on the spot in curiosity. The sight which greets her makes her stomach lurch, her feet instantly turning towards the nearest escape route. Callie closes in on her the same moment that Najia appears with another item of clothing, leaving Yaz reluctantly sandwiched between them. 

“Oh, hey, Yaz! It’s so nice to bump into you again,” Callie reels with faux-delight Najia fails to pick up on right away. As a result, she nudges Yaz’s shoulder, a smirk lacing her lips. 

“Who’s this, Yaz?” Najia interrupts amusedly, studying the woman in quiet approval, as though ensuring she’s satisfactory enough company for her daughter. Going by the way Yaz reacted to her presence, this is more than just friendship. She’s very pretty, so she can’t blame her for her taste. 

“Uh — it’s — she’s —,” Yaz starts, words wavering, her mouth suddenly dry. A serpent curls around the vessels and valves of her heart, constricting and pulsing. Are the walls drawing closer?

Callie takes it upon herself to make an introduction, sending who she presumes is Yaz’s mum a polite smile. “I’m Callie, Yaz’s…  _ friend,” _ she purposely adds insinuation to the last word, as though adding salt to a wound, reaching out a hand for the other woman to take. 

Najia, on the other hand, beams in delight. “You never mentioned your  _ friend _ , Yaz. I’m Najia, Yaz’s mum. It’s lovely to meet you, Callie,” she responds, shaking the taller woman’s hand politely. 

Yaz wants to melt into the floorboards at her feet and never return. “Mum, do you mind if — if I have a quick chat with Callie? I’ll just be five minutes,” she asks quietly, catching her mother’s eye with a suddenly quite urgent look in her eyes. 

“Of course, no problem. It was nice meeting you, Callie. Don’t let her scare you off,” Najia teases, oblivious and playful. She slips back through the clothing racks with a smile on her face, shooting an indecipherable glance Yaz’s way.

“Outside, now,” Yaz whispers harshly, ushering the taller, more imposing woman out of the shop doors and into the open. She takes in a much-needed gulp of fresh air, her stance stiff, uninviting. 

“That’s no way to talk to your  _ friend,  _ Miss Khan,” Callie sneers, following the other woman out and instantly stepping a little too close for comfort. 

A nearby busker finishes strumming their guitar.

Yaz takes a step back. “What do you want?” Yaz implores, stuffing her hands into her pockets, half-wishing she’d completed her police training instead of beginning a course on teaching. Then, at least she’d know how to stand her ground better. 

“You know what,” Callie spits, immaculately painted lips twitching into a sneering smile. She boasts the attitude of a rockstar, albeit a little weathered at the edges with alcohol and bitterness. “I want you to leave my wife alone.”

Yaz balks, brows pinching, lips pursing. “She’s not your wife, Callie,” she reminds her, a flash of surprise igniting her pupils, hoping she’d simply be able to kick her to the kerb like a scolded child. 

“You should tell her that. She couldn’t keep her hands off me yesterday,” she purrs, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear from where it’s fallen from her usual eccentric hairstyle. 

When Yaz blinks in silent shock, Callie continues. “Oh? You didn’t know? Oopsie-daisies,” she chuckles, wetting her lips. “I have to say, she’s a wonderful kisser. Although I can’t say that, in a dark alleyway, we stuck to _ only _ kissing.”

The insinuation behind her words makes Yaz’s chest tighten and ache, as though something’s been snatched cleanly from the space beneath her ribs, like a pirate stealing precious treasure. “You’re lying,” she retorts, although judging by the smugness in Callie’s tone and the faint bruise peeking out from below her jaw, her tone isn’t exactly assured. 

“If you want to believe Josie’s the one telling the truth, sure, but where’s  _ her _ evidence?” Callie beams, as though for some sick reason she gets off on toying with other people’s trust. “That’s something for you to think about, kid. Have a lovely day. It was so nice to meet your Mum,” Callie murmurs with faux-cheer, curling her bottom lip downwards into an exaggerated frown. 

“You’re — it’s not — it’s not  _ true _ ,” Yaz stammers, feeling flummoxed and torn and a lot more vulnerable than she’d like. 

“See you around, love, and remember what I said. Stay away,” Callie tucks her fingers through her belt loops and turns on her heels, heading in the opposite direction with a sway to her hips. 

The young busker starts up again, strumming a melancholy tune which Yaz’s hearing chooses to focus on over the bustling crowds. 

When she returns to her mother’s side again, Yaz is quiet and reserved, picking at her nails. She blames her busy first week on her sudden mood change, supposedly leaving her tired and a little grouchy. 

Najia is sympathetic enough to leave Yaz a wave of guilt to suffocate under. She just wants to tell her, to reveal all, but the last thing she wants to do is to worry her, so, regretfully, she keeps quiet.

At least Najia has ticked onto the flinch Yaz gives every time she mentions Callie’s name, filing the thought away and avoiding the name completely for the rest of the day. 

Hours later, into a half-eaten bowl of warmed-up pakora, Yaz cries. She doesn’t quite know why, because — Christ, she’s only known the woman for five minutes, but Josie is funny and quietly charming and a bit chaotic and Yaz was so  _ bored  _ before they met. In the space of a week, she’s more motivated, more confident, more hopeful. But then… Callie happened, and now she’s not quite so sure. It’s like climbing out of a well when the walls are covered in algae, not to mention they’re closing in. 

For the rest of the weekend, Yaz keeps a low profile, planning out lessons and finding arts and crafts to introduce to her pupils which don’t create too much of a mess. Half a tub of ice cream becomes the victim of the evening on Sunday night,  _ Imagine Me and You  _ watched through the salty sheen coating her pupils. 

* * *

By the time Monday comes around, Yaz still feels torn, but a small part of her brain wants to disregard Callie’s words and lose herself in the bubbly blonde again. She’s a whole hour early for work, after hours of nervous tossing and turning in bed. A headache begins to burn between her eyebrows, so she’s in the store cupboard, taking two doses of ibuprofen when there’s a knock on the door. 

It’s the headmaster, to her surprise. “Come on in!” she calls, straightening out her desk before she heads over to the door to allow him entrance. He’s middle-aged with kind eyes and a sense of humour much akin to Yaz’s dad. 

“Morning, cockle, you’re in early today,” he notes with a small smile, a hint of concern pooling in his eyes. “I was just doing the rounds and I know you’re new here, so I thought I’d check in with how you’re doing,” he toys with the comical tie curled around his neck, dusted with frogs. 

Yaz’s smile is genuine when she responds. She’s touched that he’s taken time out to make sure she’s settled. “It’s great, everything’s going smoothly. I’ve got a bunch of really great kids, Mr O’Brien. They’re a credit to the school.”

“Call me Graham, love. There’s no need to be formal here,” he implores gently, “Any problems at all?” he continues, curiously glancing over the arts and crafts wall Yaz had created. 

“Honestly? Nothing I can’t handle,” Yaz smiles, polite and mature and adaptable. She leans against her desk, tucking her hands into her navy slacks. 

“That’s the spirit! You’ll do excellently here, Yaz. Not to gossip, but the new bloke next door could do with some of that passion,” Graham whispers conspiratorially, etching an amused smile into Yaz’s features. 

“Maybe I’ll have a word; give him some tips,” Yaz teases, straightening up when Graham moves to leave. 

“Well, if you have any problems at all, just let me know, alright? No problem is too big or too small,” Graham murmurs in support, turning to flash a grin over his shoulder. “Have a great day, Yaz.”

“You too, Graham,” Yaz calls after his retreating form, leaning in the doorway with a warm smile. She writes up the day’s plan on the whiteboard and hums to herself idly. 

Twenty minutes later, the sound of giggling and shuffled footsteps captures Yaz’s attention, so she glances through the window in her door in question. A mess of blonde hair pokes up from behind the glass, green eyes catching Yaz’s. 

She opens the door, her heart giving its usual flutter in the presence of Josie and Wren, although this time, she wishes it wasn’t there at all. 

“Morning, Yaz!” Josie beams, enthusiasm radiating from her form. It seems their evening together might just have boosted her spirits. 

“Morning, you two.” Yaz offers up a polite smile, unable to meet Josie’s gaze. 

She busies herself with setting out the exercise books while Josie peels Wren’s jacket off and hangs it on her hook, then glances questioningly in Yaz’s direction. “Everything okay?” 

The younger woman refuses to glance up from the table before her, adjusting the pots of pencils and pens in the centre for no apparent reason. If she looks up, she’s scared her weak facade will fade and she’ll crash and burn before her eyes, revealing all her anxieties as clear as day. 

She’s used to rejection, but it’s never been the other way around before. 

“Yaz?” Josie adds, rounding to her side in concern, resting a hand gently against her forearm. The action burns through the material of Yaz’s shirt and leaves her unable to resist glancing up, eyes glossy. 

“Me? I’m fine, totally fine. Peachy,” Yaz replies, quiet, shrugging her off. 

Josie pauses to take in her features, the downward turn to her lips and the hurt flashing in her pupils when she struggles to meet her gaze, if briefly. She’s not going to push the subject, though. The last thing she wants to do is scare her off. 

“Well, have a good day, Wren. And behave! I’ll see you later.” When she steps forward to brush her hand against Yaz’s, the dark-haired woman draws back slightly. Fear and guilt and confusion contort her heart into millions of separate pieces and she fixes her with a faint frown, brows pinching. 

Perhaps she’s moving too fast? Perhaps Yaz is re-thinking the whole situation? Either way, she hates the way hurt looks on her features. 

“Uh — bye, Yaz. I hope you have a great day,” she murmurs, imploring her to catch her eye, to explain the sudden shift in her posture. She’s clueless and hurt and a little embarrassed, but first and foremost, concerned. 

“Yeah, you too. See you later,” she replies, opening the door for the mother politely. She steps aside, turning her gaze away when Josie slips through the doors with slumped shoulders and a soft sigh. 

* * *

“Useless machine!” Josie snaps, giving a swift shove to the arcade console in question. When a small family turn in her direction, she offers up a wavering, apologetic smile, giving the screen a light pat. “Sorry. Ancient, this one.”

She jumps when a hand reaches for her arm, Ryan’s concerned gaze skirting her features. “It’s just a misplaced plug. Everything okay?”

While Ryan ducks down to fix the plug back into its socket, Josie cards her fingers through her hair, then slips them around to rub the back of her neck. “It’s nothing, don’t worry,” she shakes him off, heading back to the kiosk with a firmly set frown. 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Ryan retorts, following behind her. He collects up spare change containers and stacks them up on the counter.

“It’s Yaz,” Josie admits, halfway through serving a group of rowdy students. Ryan observes the vein beginning to pulse in her temple when their voices raise arrogantly and they jostle between each other. Silently, he prays they don’t have to suffer her unpredictable wrath because Josie is a ray of sunshine but when challenged, has a harsh bite. 

Students dealt with, Josie glares holes into the backs of their heads. “She was acting really strange this morning. Maybe I’m overreacting? I haven’t done this whole dating thing in a while, so maybe I’m a bit rusty?” 

“What do you mean by ‘strange’?” Ryan counters, restocking the display behind them with bags of sweets. Josie leans against the counter when there’s a lull in customers, toying with the keys attached to her belt loop. 

“She was really quiet and standoffish. I think I’ve upset her, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what I’ve done,” Josie sighs, eyebrows furrowing. She toys with the corner of the page she’s on in her work diary, making it dog-eared and weathered. 

“Maybe she’s just having a bad day?” Ryan theorises, remaining hopeful despite the lack of context he holds over the situation. “Just ask her. Keeping quiet isn’t going to help,” he adds, wise beyond his years. 

Josie takes comfort in his words, scrunching her nose in thought, ”But what if it’s true? What if she  _ is _ re-thinking the whole thing? We’ve only just —,” Josie sighs, slumping into a stool behind the desk so she can sulk like her daughter when she’s refused extra ice cream. “Maybe I’m cursed?” 

“Hey, hey, you’re not. Don’t give up so easily, mate. Ask her if there’s something up and if there is, but she’s not ready to tell you, give her some space and wait until she is. If there isn’t, she’ll tell you you’re being silly and you can kiss and make up,” Ryan replies as though it’s the most obvious thing ever, shrugging his shoulders. 

When he moves to serve another customer, Josie is left to reel at the last few syllables of his sentence, zoning in on the words ‘kiss and make-up’ and blushing like a teenager experiencing their first sex education class. 

“You’re still thinking about the kissing thing, aren’t you?” Ryan interrupts her spiralling thoughts with a clearing of his throat, lips curling into a faux-grimace. “I’m beginning to think I’m the mature adult around here.”

“Oi! More of that attitude and you already know where I’m sending you to clean.”

* * *

Having taken Ryan’s thoughts into consideration, Josie waits until Wren leaves her classroom before approaching the demountable. She catches Yaz’s eye through the doorway and offers up a warm, slightly helpless smile, reading her reaction with a vested interest. When Yaz offers a smile in return, albeit a little more polite than friendly, Josie knows she ought to give her the space she so clearly desires — or so she hopes, at least. 

Wren natters away all the way home, as usual, but the four year old can tell there’s something off with her mother. Maybe it has something to do with the way her teacher had been acting all day too? She can’t think why, so she does her best to distract and entertain her for the remainder of the day. 

“Can we do some balloon painting again, mummy? In the garden?” Wren questions once they’re home, slipping off her school shoes and hanging up her coat with renewed enthusiasm. 

“I’m not sure, Wren. I don’t think I have much inspiration today,” Josie follows suit, shrugging off her coat and padding through to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. There’s an ache in her chest and she just wants to curl up and tell it to go away, to leave her alone and let her carry on as if nothing happened at all. 

But then Wren glances at her, features adorned with the most guilt-enduring puppy eyes she can muster, and a knowing smile on her lips. “You don’t need it for balloon paintings, mummy! Come on, it’s fun!” 

With a sigh and a playful roll of her eyes, Josie gives in, heading through to the conservatory to fetch two easels. “You better put your scruffiest clothes on for me, then, okay? I’ll set up the supplies.”

Twenty minutes later, with a bucket full of paint-filled water balloons at their sides and a canvas each, mother and daughter begin their paintings — although they’re more like chaotic explosions of colour. 

Ten balloons in, Josie tucks a paint-dusted hand into her back pocket when it rings, drawing it up to her ear with a flurry of laughter. Wren had just thrown a balloon at her canvas, only for it to bounce back and coat her in fiery orange. 

Through the end of the line comes an all-too-familiar voice, catching Josie off guard. “Hi, it’s Yaz. Can we talk?”   
  



	8. kiss it better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thanks for betaing @clickofthecollar!!!!
> 
> tw: alcoholism

_“Hi, it’s Yaz. Can we talk?”_

“Of course! Talking’s great. I love talking,” Josie breezes down the line, earning a fond scoff from the other woman. It seems they haven’t lost their connection entirely. 

“It’s about Callie,” Yaz murmurs, pensive, quiet. 

Josie instantly steps away from her daughter, toying with the rope of Wren’s swing set. She slips onto it, then, flinching when the plastic squeezes her hips uncomfortably. Her voice lowers, agitation clear in her tone. “I _knew_ she had something to do with this. Yaz, what did she do?” 

“I can’t really explain it over the phone. I shouldn’t have called, it’s fine, I’ll just —” Yaz stammers, dejected and torn and a little scared of the woman Josie used to call her wife. 

“Come over,” Josie interrupts, kicking off the ground slightly, weathered wood squeaking with effort above her head. 

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to intrude. I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Yaz responds, although her voice is tinged with uncertainty. 

“You’re not intruding, I promise. I want you here,” Josie murmurs, softening, imploring her to see sense. “Please?”

“Is it Yaz?” Wren murmurs, paint-covered hands curling around the handlebars of a baby blue push-bike and heading along the garden path in her direction. 

Josie can hear a small chuckle through the line when Yaz overhears the girl’s words, helping to ease her worries. She nods to Wren, who beams in delight. 

“I’ll be there in ten if that’s okay?” Yaz gives in, already slipping her keys into her pocket and ambling towards the door. 

“Of course! We’re hanging out in the garden so just make your way through the side gate and head around the back,” Josie directs, kicking off the ground once more. 

“Alright, see you soon,” Yaz confirms, keys jingling in the lock. 

“You too,” Josie chimes, hanging up and slipping her phone into her pocket. Wren hops up onto the swing beside her, glancing towards her mother pleadingly. 

“Can you push me, Mummy?” she flutters her lashes, doe-eyed and innocent, then shucks her legs. “Please?”

“Of course, love,” Josie chuckles fondly, slipping from her perch to draw Wren’s swing back. She lifts it to chest-height before letting go, delighting in the screech of laughter she elicits. “Too high?”

“Higher!” Wren contradicts, kicking her legs back on the next swing. 

Narrowly dodging a grass-stained sock to the nose, Josie gives another gentle push to the seat, sending her daughter a touch higher. “High enough?”

“Higher!” Wren repeats, toes wriggling, smile widening, competition in her eyes.

Approximately thirteen swings later, Wren complains of a queasy stomach, waiting until it has settled before slipping off the swing and jogging over to her playhouse. 

At the same time, the latch on the side gate lifts and Yaz pokes her head shyly around its frame. 

“Yaz!” Plastic kettle in hand, Wren skips over, moulding against Yaz’s leg in a squeezing hug. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What’ve you got there?” Yaz chuckles, waiting until Wren has pulled back before crouching to her level. 

“It’s for my kitchen! Mummy says girls don’t have to be in the kitchen all the time but she likes tea so I like to make it for her,” she chimes proudly, pointing to the pink playhouse behind her. “She doesn’t like soil tea, though. She says it’s too sugary.

Any worries or anxiety Yaz suffered on the way there are diffused with Wren’s perfectly innocent description, making her shoulders tremble with amused laughter. She can hear Josie giving a faint snort from where she’s lingering by two freshly paint-splattered canvases. 

“Can’t say I’ve heard that one before, but I’d have to agree,” Yaz admits in faux-seriousness, sparing a glance to the blonde. 

“Hey, Wren?” Josie starts, setting one of the canvases down to dry off. She replaces it with a new one. “Do you fancy making another painting while I talk to Yaz inside?” 

Excited at the prospect of more paint balloons and no one to watch over her, Wren beams like the three-foot of chaos she is. “Yes! Can I use the rest of the balloons?” she questions, motioning towards the bucketful at the base of her easel. 

“Yes, but don’t go too crazy, okay? We’ll head to the park later and I know how much you hate baths, so try not to get too much paint on you,” Josie warns, arching a brow. 

Once her daughter is suitably lectured, she nods to the open french doors leading into the kitchen. “I’ll pop the kettle on. Make yourself comfy.”

Yaz slips into the house with a swift nod, sinking into the couch to watch Josie potter about for mugs and teaspoons and… an old ice-cream tub full of custard creams. _Of course._

The tense atmosphere between them returns while they stall the elephant in the room, both women’s thoughts cast miles away despite the mere metre between them. 

Two mugs of tea made later, Josie settles into the couch at Yaz’s side, keeping a respectful distance between them. That is until she crosses her legs, knee brushing Yaz’s thigh. Her voice is patient, features softening the longer she meets the other woman’s gaze. “So…”

“I’m really sorry for how I acted today, it was totally unprofessional,” Yaz starts, toying with a loose thread clinging to the arm of the sofa, “Callie said some things on Saturday that just — they made me doubt you, somehow.”

“You saw her this weekend? What did she do?” Josie’s brows narrow in accusation — for the stray brunette rather than the woman at her side. She wants to reach out, to hold Yaz’s hand, to wipe her ex-wife from existence if it means she doesn’t have to bear witness to the downward curve of Yaz’s lips again. 

“I was out shopping with my Mum, and she turned up, made out to my Mum that I was _seeing her_ , then, when I managed to get her outside to talk, she told me that you’d slept with her — the night that I stayed here to babysit Wren,” Yaz reveals, taking a moment to sip at her tea in the hope it’ll ease her dry mouth. “You didn’t, right? You couldn’t have. You were barely gone for an hour or so.”

Anger and hurt and frustration build up in the green of her eyes and the twitch to her lips when Josie takes the information in, a surge of protectiveness making her want to keep Yaz to herself as long as Callie’s in town; to keep her happy and adored instead. At the question, she shakes her head in adamance. “Of course not! No, — one hundred times no. Definitely not. She’s old news, Yaz. She tried to kiss me, but I pushed her away, that’s it. Nothing else happened, I promise,” Josie defends confidently, reaching out for the hand Yaz has rested on her knee. “I wouldn’t do that, not now.”

The tension in Yaz’s shoulders seems to visibly ease, the hurt dancing in lines across her forehead dissipating into dark skin. “I’m sorry for doubting you — she’s really persuasive, you know? I can’t believe she made out to my Mum that we were —” Yaz shivers, goosebumps dotting her flesh. She sighs, lacing her fingers loosely around Josie’s. 

“God, if she were here right now, I’d —” Josie starts, anger flaring from the vessels pumping blood around her heart. 

“She’s not worth it, Josie,” Yaz interrupts, shaking her head as if chastising one of her pupils. She gives her hand a squeeze and sits back, giving a soft huff. “I just wish I could’ve stood up to her, but, frankly, she’s pretty scary, and I didn’t want to risk you and Wren getting on the wrong side of her again.”

Josie softens, turning to study her features with a faint frown. “You’re such a good person, Yaz. Too good. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“There was no dragging, I can assure you. You’re good people too, you don’t deserve any of this,” Yaz retorts, mature beyond her years. She twists to better face Josie, hooking one leg over the other. 

The blonde simply blinks in surprise, her pulse quickening in her neck. She glances down at their hands to ease the nerves in her stomach. “So are we still… good? It hasn’t put you off?” she asks hopefully, fully prepared for her to pull away any minute. Her fingertips drift and curl between Yaz’s as though it’s the last time she’ll get to touch her. 

Yaz, for her part, furrows her brows, reaching out with her free hand to touch her fingertips to Josie’s knee. The action sends a spark of electricity through her veins, capturing Josie’s attention right away. “I know we still barely know each other, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

Josie’s features split into a bashful but hearty grin, green eyes dancing in relief. She chuckles shyly when Yaz copies her expression, her gaze dropping to the elegant curve of her bottom lip and tracing it to the corner of her mouth. If she could just — 

“Mummy! I finished! Can we go to the park now?” Wren calls from the doorway, paint-littered hands pressed against the white door frame. 

She can hear Yaz’s laughter and a muttered ‘perfect timing’ from her side when she arches her brows at her daughter, eyeing her hands. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah?” She slips from the couch and rounds to the sink, motioning to the stool beside it. “Up you get.”

Yaz mourns the loss instantly, aware of the ‘this isn’t finished’ look Josie sends in her direction. It pins itself to the visual cortex of her brain, forcing a delightful shiver down her spine. 

Wren hops up onto the stool and bares her hands — there’s more paint than skin on show at this rate. 

“How on Earth did you manage this?” Josie questions, bewildered and amused. She starts running the tap, then uses a cloth to wipe down the stubborn colours. 

“I popped one of the balloons in my hands,” Wren admits, offering up an innocent smile. “I wanted to see how much I could squeeze it, and then— “ she motions to the colours still clinging to her palms and splashed across her cheek, “ — that happened. I made a pretty picture though! It sort of looks like a cat, but it has wings!”

Yaz could listen to the youngster chatter away all day, lifting herself from the couch to lean against the counter instead. She watches mother and daughter interact with a fond smile, an ache building in her chest when Wren turns to splash her mother playfully. Josie splutters dramatically.

“Did you see that, Yaz?” Josie gasps, eyes alight with humour. 

“I did, yeah. I think someone’s going to be on litter duty for the rest of the week, I’m afraid,” Yaz smirks, earning an aghast frown from the four year old adjacent to her. 

“You can’t! Mummy, she can’t! Tell her she can’t!” Wren cries, turning back and wiping her wet hands on her jumper, much to Josie’s chagrin. 

“That’s another week added for using your jumper as a towel, Wren,” Josie argues, earning a flurry of laughter from Yaz. 

“Afraid so, yeah,” Yaz confirms, offering the disheartened child an apologetic grin. 

When Wren eyes both women suspiciously, they break into easy laughter. “Only kidding, love,” Josie teases, reaching out to tousle Wren’s hair. “Now go and get yourself changed and then we’ll head to the park, okay?” 

Wren skips through the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. “Can Yaz come with us?” 

Her voice is so hopeful and innocent that Yaz’s choice is made for her in an instant. 

Josie turns to her, every bit as optimistic. “Would you like to?”

“I’d love to,” Yaz confirms, delighting in the gleeful squeak she receives from Wren before she hurries up the stairs. Josie sends her an affectionate smile, so lost in the action she misplaces the location of Wren’s stool and almost catapults over its form. Yaz snorts in playful amusement, “Did I just agree to go to the park with _two_ children?” 

“Oh, shut up,” Josie sneers, biting back a chuckle. She settles their mugs in the sink and starts rinsing them out, but jumps when she feels a warm palm settle at her waist, feather-light but ever-present. She turns slightly on instinct, glancing over her shoulder to meet Yaz’s eyes. 

There’s a patter of footsteps from above them, where Wren searches for a fresh outfit. Yaz glances up at the sound, and when her gaze returns, Josie has turned around completely. 

Josie lifts an eyebrow, studying the darkened tint to her pupils in curiosity. “Everything okay?” she almost whispers into the space between them, moving her hand to bump clumsily against Yaz’s. 

“Just taking my chance while I can,” Yaz responds confidently, then, holding her gaze, it dissipates slightly, her cheeks warming. “That came out wrong, I just meant - look, can we — can I—” Yaz stammers, leaving Josie to connect the dots. 

The blonde simply giggles, her own cheeks rosy while her crush wrestles over her thoughts. “Are you trying to tell me you’d like to kiss me, Yaz?” 

“Yes — that,” Yaz huffs a breath of frustration at herself, repositioning the hand at her waist now she’s turned. Her gaze zones in on her lips once more, because at this rate she’ll be surprised if she even aims correctly. They’ve curved into a teasing smirk, leaving Yaz to compose herself for a moment longer. 

“Well, I’d happily oblige provided it’s in this century,” Josie comments teasingly, earning a pout from the other woman. 

Boot-clad feet begin their descent down the stairs. 

“I’m — it’s not — I haven’t done this in a wh—” Yaz’s words are cut short by the gentle pressure of lips against her own and a hand resting against the slope of her neck. After the initial surprise wears off, she leans into her touch, returning the kiss with tentative vigour. It’s even better than she had imagined, tiny sparks of electricity swirling and fizzling in the pit of her stomach while her heart races in her chest. 

“Mummy? Does this outfit look o— kay?” Wren pauses, halfway into the kitchen, words trailing off at the sight before her. Quickly, she moves to cover her eyes, turning on the spot. “Mummypleasestopeatingyaz’sface.”

Yaz is the first to pull back, leaning against the counter with a bashful giggle while she tries to calm the tingling sensation on her lips and at the tips of her fingers. She can’t quite put words together yet, glancing towards Josie in flustered amusement. 

“You can look now, love,” Josie laughs, taking a quick, shaky inhale before she composes herself and reaches for her keys. “Ready to go?” 

Dressed in a fresh pair of dungarees and a navy, rainbow-emblazoned t-shirt, Wren beams, reaching for Yaz’s hand. She sends a pointed glance towards her mother. “Sorry mummy tried to eat you, Yaz,” she murmurs when Yaz curls her hand around the youngster’s own. 

“Wren!” Josie huffs, flailing her hands when Yaz simply smirks her way, her cheeks pink. “Yaz, I think it’s time to take sides. You can go to Wren, who dramatises everything and gets paint everywhere, or you can go for me. I’m —”

“I’ll go to Wren’s side,” Yaz interrupts, halfway out the front door. She turns back to see Josie pouting in her direction. In fact, _did she just stamp her foot?_ “She’s got my back. She’ll protect me if you try to eat me again,” she replies with a wink which sends Josie’s heart into palpitations. 

The blonde follows along behind them both with a sigh, shoving her hands into her pockets and ensuring she has her best pout on display each time they glance back.

The park is only a fifteen-minute walk away, so by the time they reach the gates, Josie has gravitated to their side and taken Wren’s free hand in her own. 

Yaz glances beside her when Wren starts swinging their hands between them, catching sight of the pure affection in Josie’s pupils and deciding, then and there, that she doesn’t ever want to see a frown on her face again. 

“Shall we find a spot to sit and then grab some ice cream?” Josie quips once they’ve found a quiet part of the park, trees and wildflowers immediately capturing her daughter’s attention. 

“Yaz, we’re having ice cream! What’s your favourite flavour?” Wren chimes between them, giving Yaz’s hand an encouraging tug. 

“Strawberry — the best one of them all. What about you, Wren?” Yaz replies, earning a scrunch of Wren’s nose in distaste. 

“Chocolate’s the best flavour!” Wren cries, tugging on her mother’s hand this time. “Isn’t it, mummy?” 

“Sorry, Yaz. I’m with Wren on this one,” Josie agrees, motioning to a spot beside an old oak tree, a stream running alongside which Wren is all too eager to explore. 

“Is this revenge for earlier?” Yaz quips, teasing and playful. She settles into the lush grass next to Josie while Wren breaks away from them to peer into the flowing water. 

“Maybe,” Josie grins, sitting back on her haunches to lean on her hands. She tilts her head onto her shoulder, sending Yaz a teasing look. 

“You’re mean,” Yaz huffs faux-seriously, nudging her shoulder gently. 

“At least I don’t gang up on people,” Josie bites back mockingly, arching a brow. When Yaz shuffles up to her side and lowers her gaze to her lips again, she blushes, her snide persona slipping like a mask on its last thread.

When Josie leans in to close the distance between them, eager to experience another descent into blissful brown eyes and enticing lips, an excited squeal from behind her leaves noses bumping against each other with more force than necessary. 

“Mummy! Look!”

Yaz jumps back to clutch at her nose with a gasp which quickly dissolves into laughter. Wren has managed to capture a frog in her hold, which she eagerly shows a slightly dishevelled Josie, who has fallen back into the grass with a groan. “Wren!”

“Can I keep him? I’ve named him Ned,” Wren continues, oblivious to the fact she’d interrupted a moment between them. “Do you want to hold him?” 

“No thank you, Wren. Why don’t you put him back where he’s happy, sweetie?” Josie encourages, nose scrunching in disapproval. 

“But —” Wren starts, adjusting her hold when the frog begins fidgeting. 

“Uh-uh. Put Ned back and I’ll get us all some ice cream, okay?” Josie implores despite the crestfallen look gracing Wren’s features. The youngster seems to be persuaded, though, padding back to the stream to free the amphibian. 

Upon her return, Josie opens her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but not all animals are suitable for pets, okay? You can come here and visit Ned whenever you like, anyway,” she says gently, giving a faint ‘oof’ when Wren slips into her arms and sends her back into the grass again. 

“Oh, how _sweet,_ ” chimes a voice from a metre or so away. The smell of rum lingers in the air, supposedly sourced from the flask in the woman’s hand. 

Josie raises a hand to block the sun from her gaze, curling her free arm tighter around her daughter when she realises who the rugged voice belongs to. She sits up, exasperated but on edge. The last thing she wants is to cause a scene. “Leave us alone, Callie.”

Beside her, Yaz swallows thickly, the victim to Callie’s piercing gaze. “I told you to stay away from my family, Yaz. Doesn’t look like you took my advice, huh?” 

“We’re not your family, Callie,” Wren murmurs, shy and quiet but stronger than ever. She turns to glance up at the woman she’d known as her mother, but all she sees now is selfishness and regret. “Leave us alone,” she repeats Josie’s words, sinking into her side with a glare.

Jostled, Callie’s features fall and she thinks over what her next actions might be — but if her ex-wife doesn’t want her, and the child she’d proudly labelled her own simply wants her to leave, what else can she do?

“Rowan, please, I’m your mum,” she replies, but it sounds more like a beg. She takes a step closer. 

Yaz stands in an instant, placing herself in front of Josie and Wren with a hardened frown. “I’d suggest you leave, Callie. You’re drunk. Go before you do anything else you’ll regret,” she commands, stern and simple, using her teacher training to keep her stance as though she’s a lot more confident than she feels. 

“You’ve trained her well, Josie,” Callie sneers, leaning into Yaz’s space if only to spit at her, all alcohol-fuelled breath and zero respect. Josie gasps in shock, standing up, Wren balanced on her hip. She reaches for Yaz’s hand, which Callie all but snarls at, jealousy building like a raging flood.

“I hope you’re happy,” she hisses, tossing her head back to finish the rest of the contents of her flask in one go. She throws it aside and storms back along the path, steps a touch uneven and clumsy. 

“Yaz? Yaz, are you okay? Come here, let me —” Josie slips a tissue from her pocket and tips Yaz’s chin up, wiping under her eye and along her cheekbone with a series of apologies. “I’m so sorry, Yaz. I —” 

After the initial shock and embarrassment ebbs away, Yaz watches Callie’s retreating form with a sense of quiet triumph. “It’s alright, it’s okay. Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m fine, yeah. Thank you — thank you for standing up for us,” Josie finishes up, blinking quickly to dissipate any tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. 

“You’d do the same for me,” Yaz smiles, cheeks rosy and pulse continuing to race in her neck. Her adrenaline has peaked. She turns to the youngster clinging to Josie’s side with a proud expression. “It’s you we should be thanking, Wren. You’re so brave, sweetie. Braver than me.”

Josie nods in agreement, lifting her daughter into her arms with a slightly teary grin. “She’s right, Wren. I’m really proud of you."

Glancing between the two women she admires the most, Wren twists her lips into a curious smile. “ _Now_ can we get ice cream? I’m starving.”


	9. night go slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another long boy chapter for yall!! enjoy! 
> 
> chapter rated M for,,, reasons, so if u don't enjoy smut you can skip the last part of this chapter !!!

“Good afternoon!” Josie chimes, popping her head around the door to Yaz’s classroom with a beaming grin and boundless energy. The young teacher reels back from the whiteboard with a gasp, tossing the cloth she’d been using to wipe down a day of scrawls at the blonde in defence. 

“Stop doing that!” Yaz cries in jest, crossing her arms with a huff. There’s a flurry of giggles behind her, where Wren is cleaning up her desk and packing her bag to leave. 

“Stop watching horror films with me when you know you’re too jumpy, then,” Josie smirks through childish laughter, slipping a small object from her pocket and padding over to the bike stored in the closet behind her desk. 

It’s been three weeks since their last run-in with Callie, and they’re all but inseparable; a dysfunctional family at best. 

“What’s that?” Yaz follows behind the blonde, leaning in the doorframe to watch over her. The last time she’d meddled with her bike she’d left a woopie cushion tucked beneath the padding of her seat, making her the laughing stock of her students for the day. 

“It’s going to start getting darker in the evenings soon, so I thought you’d need a light,” Josie replies in earnest, leaving Yaz to blink in pleasant surprise. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she starts, reaching out to touch a hand to her forearm. Josie melts into her touch, sending a soft smile over her shoulder. 

“I wanted to,” Josie argues, twisting the accessory into place in the centre of her handlebars and giving the seat a pat of approval when she stands. “Much better. Now I won’t have to worry too much when winter comes, and you have a cool new light!” she enthuses, reaching out to switch the light on. It’s powerful even in the lit room. 

“Thank you,” Yaz murmurs gently, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of smiling lips. Green eyes meet brown in a display of silent affection. “You’re so good.”

Josie can’t help the reaction her words entice, warmth rushing to her neck and cheeks and making her clear her throat. She wonders back into the classroom a little hazily, shrugging off the action. “I — it was no big deal.” 

Intrigued, Yaz keeps the titbit of information for future reference, observing the way Josie rubs the back of her pinkened neck as she makes her way over to her daughter. They exchange a few words before she chuckles, stepping back. 

“Yaz?” Wren quips, catching her attention right away. “I think these pencils are about to f—” A large tray of coloured pencils slips from the edge of the table and Wren jumps, offering up a guilty smile. “That wasn’t me.”

Ignoring the amused snort Josie gives from her side, Yaz pads over to help clear up the mess with a playful roll of her eyes. “You’ve been acting sneaky all day today, Wren. What’s up?”

While they chatter away, Josie fishes a board marker from Yaz’s desk. She watches both of them through her peripherals while she scribbles out a note in the corner of the whiteboard. Once finished, she sets the pen down and catches her daughter’s eye with a wink, to which she beams. 

“She’s training to be a secret agent,” Josie responds, standing just in front of the scrawled print so to hide it from view for now. 

Wren gathers the rest of the colours up and slots them into their rightful places before standing with a pleased grin. “I’m going to be the next James Bond, but better,” she announces proudly, hands on her hips. 

“There’s nothing stopping you, sweetheart,” Yaz responds in encouragement, dusting her knees off as she moves to stand, and Josie’s heart melts a touch more. 

When Wren swings her bag over her shoulder and joins her mother by the doorway, Yaz offers up an apologetic frown. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home with you today, sorry. I’ve got some work I have to get done first and I don’t think it would be wise to avoid it this time,” she murmurs, reaching out to loosely curl her fingers around Josie’s. “I’ll be free this evening, though, if you wanted to do anything?” her words are tentative and shy and aimed towards Josie, suggestion dancing in brown pools. “Just — you know, call me or something.”

“I’ll — I’ll keep that in mind,” Josie swallows thickly at the insinuation, and for the second time today, she wishes she’d asked her babysitter to have Wren for the weekend, not just the evening. She’s so distracted by Yaz’s words that her secret plan for the night almost goes amiss. 

“See you tomorrow, Wren!” Yaz chimes to the youngster now loitering in the foyer, toying with the straps on her rucksack. She offers up a grin, heading for the door. 

Josie follows on her tail, just after a soft kiss melts against Yaz’s hairline. “I’ll call you. Oh — also, you missed a spot,” the older woman whispers, motioning towards the whiteboard before she slips from the room in a flourish, jogging a few steps after her daughter. 

When Yaz glances back to the offending object, she tilts her head at the unfamiliar script dancing along the corner. 

_ Hollywood Arcade. 8 pm.  _

Yaz’s heart flutters in her chest, a sense of anticipation winding between her vessels like a perfectly wrapped bow. She chuckles to herself, touching a hand to her blushing cheeks before forcing herself back to her desk.

For once, she’s motivated to finish her work in record time. She doesn’t feel the need to question why. 

_ Smooth. It’s a shame Wren has better handwriting than you. x _ _  
_

_ I take that as a yes? And you’re mean. I’ve changed my mind. x _

_ Yes! You wouldn’t, you’re too good. x _

There’s a pause between messages while Josie re-reads the last three words, again and again. Heat floods her insides, turning them to jelly. She curses her expressive nature and her nack for revealing things so easily through it. 

_ See you later! x _

_ If you’re lucky. x _

* * *

__

“Does this look okay?” Josie murmurs nervously to her daughter — because if Wren doesn’t like something, she won’t hesitate to let her know. She’s dressed down in a pair of jeans and a blouse, a long, patterned blue coat draped over her arm. 

“Why did you change?” Wren replies between sips of squash, perched on the floor with a jigsaw spread out before her. She gives a nod of approval to the outfit, leaving Josie to release a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

“Because I’m going on a date with Yaz,” Josie quips back, slipping the coat over her shoulders and toeing into a pair of brown boots. 

“But you saw her earlier with paint in your hair,” Wren replies bluntly, turning to smirk at her mother over the rim of her cup. 

Josie glares playfully, pursing her lips into a thin line. “Which you chose not to tell me about!” she cries, carding her fingers through freshly-washed locks before mussing it into place. She’s saved from any more teasing words from her daughter when there’s a knock on the door, alerting her to the presence of her babysitter. 

“Bill! Hey! Come on in.” Josie stands aside to grant the younger woman passage, then follows her into the living room to the delight of her daughter. 

“Bill!” Wren cries happily, moving to stand before she’s immediately scooped up into a hug by the dark-skinned woman. 

“Hello, you! It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you. Have you grown? You’re taller, I swear,” Bill gushes, studying her features with exaggerated enthusiasm. “And are those  _ wrinkles _ ?” 

“No!” Wren protests, reaching up to pinch and pull at her chubby cheeks. “That’s just mummy,” she adds, sparing a mischievous glance towards her mother. 

“Oh,  _ dude.  _ She’s feisty now, too. I’m so glad to be back.” Bill beams, settling the squirming youngster down in favour of eyeing Josie’s attire for the evening. “Going anywhere nice?” 

“She’s going on a date!” Wren answers for her, perching back down on the carpet to continue her puzzle. 

“A  _ date?”  _ Bill probes in intrigued surprise. She folds her arms and tilts her head, observing Josie’s blushing cheeks and parted lips, as though forming words which refuse to surface on her tongue. “You better fill me in as soon as you’re back. You’re not escaping that easily, Josie.” 

The blonde in question slips her coat over her shoulders, baring a bashful grin. “I shouldn’t be out too late, I don’t think. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I’m back, I promise. Wren? You better behave for Bill, okay?” she stalls, tucking her hands into her pockets despite the flustered warmth radiating from her form. She fidgets on the spot, toying with her keys. 

“I always behave!” Wren huffs, mid-way through bending a piece of her jigsaw to fit it into place. Bill snorts with laughter. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Bill winks, making herself comfortable on the floor beside Wren. She plucks the offending jigsaw piece from the four year old’s hand before she can snap it in two, replacing it with the correct one. 

“I’m not — that’s — okay, see you later!” Josie calls before she slips into the hallway and out the door to a chorus of childish giggling. As soon as she’s on the familiar route towards her place of work, her stomach begins twisting and constricting with nerves. 

She’s almost picked and unthreaded the entire way through her pockets by the time she arrives at the dimly lit building, unlocking the door and slipping inside as though on a secret mission. With a flick of a switch, the arcade machines come to life in a sea of neon. With bated breath, she lingers in the main doorway, sparing a glance at the time on her phone — 7:55 PM. 

“You sure this isn’t some weird setup for a kidnap?” a voice chimes to her left less than a minute later, and Josie breathes a laugh into the cool evening air. “Because I know we haven’t discussed things, but — I’m not really into that kind of stuff, sorry.”

“This isn’t a — you’re awful,” Josie huffs, though she can’t resist drawing the other woman in once she’s close enough. She presses a delicate kiss to the corner of Yaz’s lips, her smile a ray of sunshine in its own right when Yaz moves to chase it. “Come on in, we have the whole place to ourselves. I was owed for working overtime, so I thought I’d make the most of it.”

“Wait, really?” Yaz questions in earnest, toeing through the doors as though scared they’ll be arrested for trespassing any second. She takes in the neon lighting and array of old arcade machines with a sense of childlike wonder. When she turns back to Josie, she’s smirking. “This was Wren’s idea, wasn’t it?” 

When Josie begins blushing, her question is answered immediately. 

“Yes, really, and — maybe?” She reaches out, hands brushing, fingers lingering. “She might’ve planted the seed, yeah,” she admits bashfully, heat tinting her cheeks a rosy hue. She spins on her heels, then, gesturing to the large room around them. “More importantly, where would you like to start?” 

“I didn’t spend four years on Sheffield’s netball team for nothing,” Yaz smirks, eyeing up the Basket Blitz machine in the corner of the room. She’s always been competitive, applying herself entirely to everything she does. It’s a characteristic she’d gained from her mother. Plus, winning to Josie — a woman of many talents? Even better. “Up for getting your arse kicked?” 

“Oh, it’s  _ on,”  _ Josie counters, stretching her arms out and interlocking her fingers until they click. Yaz admires her hands for a touch longer than necessary, which certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. “After you, Miss Khan.” 

“You can’t do that! That’s cheating!” Yaz complains five minutes later, swatting at the warm hand settled against the small of her back, drawing circles over her thin blouse — while she launches basketballs through a moving hoop. When she ends up with a score of fifty-three, however, she can’t help but beam. She retrieves the tickets the machine disperses and steps back, but not out of range of her touch. “Beat that.”

Josie scrunches her nose at the sight, pursing her lips into a dismissive smile. “I’ve worked here for three years now, you really think I haven’t put any practice in? This will be easy-peasy.” 

Three successful shots later, hot breaths ghost over Josie’s shoulder, where her blouse clings loosely to her form. Goosebumps raise the skin there and she breathes a soft sigh before her focus returns, and she huffs, taking another shot. “That’s so hypocritical, Yaz!”

When misses her first shot of twenty, Yaz laughs giddily into the back of her shoulder, ducking when she almost sends said limb careening in her direction. “I have no idea what you mean — I was just getting a closer look. Aren’t you meant to be focusing?”

With a huff of frustration, Josie returns to the task at hand. 

She scores a total of fifty-two, much to Yaz’s absolute delight. “How many years did you say you’ve been working here for again?” Yaz asks innocently a moment later, but when Josie meets her gaze, she’s already laughing again. 

Josie would feel a lot more defeated if Yaz’s laughter didn’t pick away at the walls around her heart and leave her in a hazy sort of bliss. 

“Not long enough, apparently. Okay, what about this one?” Josie leads the way over to a row of machines in the middle of the room, two controllers nestled into their forms. She picks up one, inserting a company token into the money slot. 

“A fighting game? You sure you’re not Wren on stilts?” Yaz remarks, but she picks up a controller anyway. She glances over the instructions on the screen for a mere second before she’s confident in her ability to play — and to win, for that matter. 

“Let’s hope so — she’s brilliant at these games. Don’t ever tell her I told you that,” Josie warns, pointing the end of her weapon-shaped controller at her counterpart in faux threat. 

Yaz gasps as though Josie isn’t about as frightening as a kitten perched on a pile of laundry, claiming it as their own. She holds her free hand up in surrender, fond amusement painting her features. “I won’t! Come on, the sooner we start this game, the sooner I can kick your arse.”

In response, Josie turns, levelling her focus on the screen in utmost concentration when it transitions to two scantily-dressed female characters, poised and ready to fight. 

She’s vocal in her attempts to fight back against Yaz’s onslaught of specialist moves, offering up a groan of frustration when the first round puts her in the losing position. 

Yaz, on the other hand, remains unperturbed, bumping shoulders with the other woman in an act of comfort. “It’s okay to be average, you know,” she adds, eyes creasing in the corners with the effort of holding back laughter when Josie turns to her in search of reassurance and only receives slander. 

Josie’s jaw hangs for a moment before she shakes her head, brushing away the insult. If anything, she’s all the more determined to beat her this time, her tongue flitting over her bottom lip in pure concentration. Yaz spots the motion in the corner of her eye, curious pupils following the movement and leading to a loss in the second round. 

“So much for average, huh?” Josie quips, snarky and pleased with herself. She clicks onto the next and final round with a flourish, bouncing on her toes, oblivious to the eyes still lingering on her lips. 

They’re having an even fight until Yaz’s character is subjected to a particularly destructive move, at which point she settles the controller back into its hold and reaches for Josie’s hip. Catching the blonde off guard, she has her pressed up against the console in an instant, hesitating for a moment to await a swift nod from the other woman before moulding against her form in a kiss which is far too distracting for Josie’s liking. 

Yaz surges forward, swiping her tongue along the lips she’d been so distracted by with a soft noise of approval. It breaks off into a sigh when Josie curls her fingers through her hair, drawing her closer, her lips moving more assuredly against her own. It’s enough to leave her panting softly into her mouth a minute later, the length of her body pressed against the Josie’s in a dizzying surge of electricity. 

Josie rests her forehead against Yaz’s when they pull back, breathless and dazed, heat already pooling in her gut— an embarrassing reminder that she hasn’t been this close to someone in years. “Was that — did you seriously just do that because you were losing the game?”

“Didn’t work, anyway,” Yaz laughs against her, hot, uneven breaths falling against the slope of Josie’s neck. Yaz can feel the way it makes her shiver, which only adds fuel to the simmering heat in the pit of her stomach. “You still won,” she admits, glancing towards the screen behind Josie’s head. 

“Wait, really?” Josie turns so quickly she almost sends Yaz flying, stumbling to right herself. She mourns their proximity right away. “Now we’re drawing! Come on, let’s find something else.” There’s a tug on her hand and, quelling the desire behind her pupils, she follows along behind five foot six of childish enthusiasm.

They’re still at a draw a whole hour and ten arcade machines later, with nothing to kerb Josie’s competitive enthusiasm. They’re out of ideas until Yaz spots the familiar black and red of a boxing machine, so she reaches out to tug on Josie’s sleeve. “How about one last contest? Whoever gets the highest score is the overall winner,” she murmurs conspiratorially, popping her brows in question. 

Josie twists her lips into a thoughtful frown, debating, before it morphs into a competitive smirk. “It’s a deal.” 

With a click of dispensed change, the machine comes to life. Josie has to duck her head to avoid getting a boxing instrument to the face when the rubber ball drops into place, earning a round of laughter from the younger woman. 

“That wasn’t funny! I could’ve been knocked out,” Josie grumbles, the spitting image of her daughter when her clumsiness gets in the way of her dignity. “Okay, who’s going first?”

“I’ll go first. The tension will kill me otherwise,” Yaz chuckles, standing back. She shrugs off her denim jacket if only to gain more flexibility, settling it atop a change machine at her side. “Count me down?”

Josie steps aside, silently admiring the way Yaz’s poised stance leaves a wisp of midsection on display. It’s in the shadow of her printed shirt, but she can make out the beginnings of her toned abdomen. She swallows thickly, suddenly aware she’d left Yaz waiting on her. When she lifts her gaze, the other woman simply arches a manicured brow, her cheeks warming. 

“Uh — three,” Josie starts, wetting her lips as she watches Yaz focus back on the machine. 

“Two.” Yaz sends a wink her way. 

“One.”

Yaz swings her fist towards the rubber bound ball with surprising elegance, the movement making thin cotton hug the toned nature of her arms and flash a snippet more of her toned stomach. Josie doesn’t notice once the score is calculated, although she doesn’t really care any longer because there’s so much on show and if she could only reach out and —

“Nine hundred and fifty-seven!” Yaz cries, stepping back when the machine resets. She reaches out when she notices Josie’s slightly dazed expression, haltering intermittent thoughts of strong arms curled around the blonde’s form with a gentle touch to her forearm. 

She blinks out of her daydream and clears her throat, glancing back towards the machine. “If I can still carry Wren all the way to school, I think I can manage this,” she states competitively, taking her place just shy of the contraption. 

After a short countdown, Josie sends her own fist flying towards the punching ball. She’s a little more clumsy in her efforts, stumbling forward a step while she glances towards the scoreboard in apprehension. 

There’s a moment of competitive quiet while the machine calculates her total. Yaz steps forward, curling an arm around Josie’s waist if only to keep her steady. When the score appears, her laughter melts against Josie’s shoulder. 

“ _ Seriously? _ ” Josie groans, though it’s not long until Yaz’s laughter encourages a flurry of her own. “One point! I got one point less, Yaz!” 

“I don’t think these machines like you very much, babe,” Yaz murmurs amusedly, rubbing her hand up and down her back as though she’s fallen over in the schoolyard and grazed her knee. The term of endearment doesn’t register with Yaz, but catches the blonde off-guard. 

Josie turns, looping an arm around Yaz’s waist and meeting her gaze in fond affection. “You just called me babe.”

“Did I? I don’t think I —” Yaz starts, cheeks flushing, heat spreading from the tips of her ears to the ‘v’ of her shirt. 

“I liked it,” Josie adds before she can retract the word, wrap it up and leave it to go unused. Her heart sings with restrained tenderness when Yaz’s lips curl into a bashful smile, because it’s  _ so _ soon to feel this way and it’s been  _ so _ intense for the last month but Yaz is still here, still happy, still patient and still undeniably everything Josie needs. 

“I can hear you thinking, babe,” Yaz breathes a giggle, reaching up to cup Josie’s cheek and draw her back to the present. “Only good things, right?” she asks, then, a hint of worry gracing her features — she’ll never forget the look on Josie’s face during their last interaction with Callie. She’d danced around her for days after, as though she was made of glass. It had taken a week until Josie had called her out on it, informing her that she was stronger than she looked. Now, she doesn’t doubt it. 

“You said it again!” Josie teases, earning a roll of Yaz’s eyes. 

“Are you going to say that every time, —” Yaz pauses for effect, “ — babe?” 

“Yaz! You’re making it  _ way _ too easy for me now,” Josie argues, but her response dies in her throat when Yaz presses a chaste kiss to her lips. 

* * *

Josie locks up an hour later, turning to take in the sight — Yaz, standing in the shadow of neon lights, with a giant tiger tucked under her arm— she’d earnt enough tokens for some sweets and a fidget spinner, but Josie had given in at the crestfallen look on her face. The image before her is enough to make her heart melt into a puddle in her chest, enough to make her fingertips itch for the grip of a paintbrush and savour it in all its adorable quality. 

“All locked up?” Yaz quips, oblivious to the adoring eyes on her form. She tucks the tiger a little tighter to her form in the cool of the evening. 

“All locked up,” Josie confirms, skipping a step to settle at her side. “Uh — how was that, by the way? It wasn’t too nerdy or boring, right?” she queries once they begin walking, hands bumping but too shy to intertwine. 

“For a first date? It was perfect,” Yaz answers in earnest, flashing her a smile. In the low light, she looks angelic. “I couldn’t think of anything better.”

Josie hums at her side, still buzzing with adrenaline from all their gentle touches and kisses. The next time their hands bump together, she curls her pinky finger around Yaz’s. “Would it be alright if I held your hand? I’m not scared — I love the dark, I swear. I just — I just want to hold it,” she stammers, then shakes her head lightly — they’d done far more than holding hands, so why is she so nervous?

“Of course,” Yaz chuckles, her whole body warming when Josie smoothly weaves their fingers together and swings them gently between their bodies. 

“Have you given him a name yet?” Josie asks a few steps later, motioning to the soft toy tucked under Yaz’s arm. 

“I think I’m going to name him Lucky,” Yaz answers shyly, her cheeks already blooming with colour. She turns her head to admire the touch of pink to Josie’s nose. She meets her gaze to murmur the next words. “Seems fitting, I reckon.”

If Josie wasn’t already struggling to keep her heart under control in her chest, she is now. She breaks into a grin bright enough to deem the street lights around her unnecessary, not to mention the stars. 

By the time they reach Josie’s house, the faint light of the living room is the only sign of life — Wren must be asleep already. When she checks the watch around her wrist, she understands why. Lingering by the garden gate, she toys with the tips of Yaz’s fingers, feeling every bit like a teenager after a night of hanging out with friends on the edge of newfound freedom. 

“Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe, okay?” Josie chides gently, meeting her shy gaze with a goofy grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I will! I promise. Say goodnight to Wren for me,” Yaz counters, rocking on her toes for a moment before she steps into Josie’s space. 

Lucky perches on the ground beside them, momentarily forgotten. 

The blonde responds in kind, reaching out to curl her fingers lazily through the loops of Yaz’s black jeans. She’s smiling when she leans in to capture her lips, a willing victim to any disease kissing Yaz too often has to threaten her. When the other woman takes the lead, she breathes a surprised little huff of air against her lips, which curve and mould perfectly around her own as though customised for her in particular. 

When Yaz presses closer, tongue seeking entrance between consenting lips, Josie turns them slightly, taking back her control. The garden gate creaks when she has Yaz pressed against it gently, hands curled into the lapels of her leather jacket. She moves close enough to leave no space between their bodies, a formerly stoked fire burning once more between them. 

Slipping her tongue past her own, Yaz reaches out to fist her hands into Josie’s blouse, her knees weakening when she nips at her bottom lip in return. Frankly, she’s pretty grateful for the gate at her back, because she would’ve lost her balance by now.

When they break apart this time, bodies buzzing with adrenaline, there’s no mistaking the darkened hint to Josie’s pupils when she blinks them open hazily. She meets Yaz’s gaze and is reassured by the knowledge that the same hue is mirrored in hers.

Josie leans in, ghosting a kiss against Yaz’s jaw before her lips settle over her rapidly beating pulse point, breathing in honey and coconut while she dots a series of searing kisses against her skin. 

“We should really — hhf, that’s —” Yaz starts, words melting into a sigh when Josie’s kiss drift back up and along her jaw, leaving her legs to turn to jelly. “ — distracting.”

Josie eventually pulls back, swollen lips painted into a dazed smile. Calming breaths melt into the space between them, lingering in the autumn air like smoke. She draws back to allow Yaz some space, touching a hand to her waist while she regains strength in her legs. “Sorry, got a bit carried away.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Yaz counters instantly, the hastiness of her response making Josie chortle. “That was more than okay. I just —- I just wish it wasn’t a school night,” she admits, shy, hesitant, as though she’s frightened to be so upfront. 

A shock of heat swirls and burns away at Josie’s core with the admission, momentarily taken aback. “There’s always a next time,” she murmurs, her voice a low whisper. As quick as the words leave her lips, her expression morphs back to a goofy smile. “Okay, well, I’ll let you go now so you don’t catch a cold standing around out here. Get home safe, okay?” She leans against the gate she’d had Yaz pressed against only moments earlier, appearing as smooth and collected as possible before the weathered metal gives in and she stumbles back a few steps. 

Yaz moves to catch her before she manages to right herself, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes and breathing an embarrassed laugh. “It should be me telling  _ you _ to get home safe. Please don’t trip up on the way to the door, for your dignity’s sake,” she teases, earning a huff of laughter from the blonde. “I’ll call you.”

“You’d better. See you tomorrow,” Josie responds, halfway up the path, plucking idly at the leaves of a fuchsia plant while Yaz hefts Lucky back into her arms and begins to make her way along the street. 

When she slips into the house after seeing Yaz down the street and onto the next, she pads into the living room with a dopey smile on her lips. 

“What’s that look for?” Bill comments immediately, glancing away from the television to shoot a smirk in Josie’s direction. “Oh, dude. You totally wooed her, didn’t you? Did you shag her in the arcade? That’s  _ bold _ .”

“Bill!” Josie snorts into her palm, dropping onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. “No, I did  _ not  _ shag her in the arcade. Yes, I might’ve wooed her a little. At least I hope so, anyway.”

“You know what? That’s a missed opportunity. You should’ve grabbed it while you could,” Bill retorts, sitting up to gather her things. “But that’s great! It’s nice to see you out there again. You must’ve been getting cobwebs down there.”

Choosing to ignore her last comment entirely, Josie shrugs off her blue coat and settles it over the arm of the chair, toeing off her boots in the meantime. “Thank you. Yaz is great, and she’s so good with Wren. I’ve never seen her become so attached to someone so quickly,” she gushes, leaning back, her dopey expression returning. “She has this dimple when she smiles, and just — her smile as a whole is just — God, I’m gay, Bill.”

“Really? Never would’ve known,” the dark-skinned woman sniggers, slipping her usual denim jacket on but lingering to find out more details. “What does she do? Ryan’s been giving me tidbits of information but most of the time he’s talking out of his own arse, so what am I meant to believe?”

“She’s Wren’s primary school teacher,” Josie reveals, earning a scandalous look from Bill. 

“This already sounds like a piece of fanfiction. How did you meet? No — wait, let me guess — you both turned up late for the first day?” Bill teases, rubbing her hands together in intrigue while Josie begins retelling the events of the past few weeks. 

By the time she’s finished, Bill has a newfound respect for Yaz. Anyone who makes Josie as happy as she seems gets her approval right away.

* * *

It’s later than she expected when Josie retires to her bedroom after popping her head around Wren’s door and deciding not to disturb her sleeping form. Slipping beneath the sheets and thinking over the evening’s events, a shiver rolls down her spine, the reminder of an unattended fire which threatens to burn her up from the inside out. 

She’s walking her fingertips over her chest, pyjama top unbuttoned, when a buzz to her right draws her attention to her mobile phone, Yaz’s face coupled with Lucky the tiger lighting up the screen. 

Her voice is a touch raspy when she presses ‘accept’ and murmurs “Yaz,” down the line, drawing her free hand back to card through her hair. She’s flushed and needy, working hard to hide its evidence from her voice. “Did you get home okay?”

The ruffling of sheets echoes through the microphone when Yaz shifts in bed, toying with a loose curl which had fallen from her bun. “Hey! Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know earlier, my phone died on the way home and I've only just remembered. Thank you for today. It was — like — probably one of the best nights I’ve had in a while,” she reveals earnestly, lips curling upwards without her knowledge. 

Josie chuckles, the sound a little breathy. Yaz picks up on it right away. “That’s okay, at least you’re back safe now. You should get some sleep, it’s late and you have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Were you in the middle of something? You sound a little out of breath. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Yaz asks gently, shifting for a more comfortable position. “And I  _ would  _ go to sleep, but I’m still giddy about this evening. The kissing, especially.”

The question catches Josie and puts her in a corner, and the last comment does nothing to help her situation. “Oh! No, I was just — putting a heavy book down. As for the kissing, I really enjoyed it, too, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she retorts, her voice betraying the frustration burning away at her core. 

Yaz wets her lips, giving in to a small tremble at the tone of Josie’s voice. There’s a husky element to it, the kind of tone which leaves her thighs pressing together involuntarily. “Mm — you did? Good, because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Me neither,” Josie whispers, fingers curling into the cotton of her sleep shirt. “I really didn’t want our night to finish,” she adds, a little breathier as she thinks back over the taste of Yaz’s skin, the way she’d marked her flesh prominently enough for only her to notice. 

“What would you have preferred?” Yaz answers a little too quickly, bold and hopeful and undoubtedly on the same track as Josie. The blonde shivers at the knowledge, taking a shaky inhale. ”Just — out of interest,” she murmurs, soft and a little needy. Her fingertips trace the path Josie’s lips followed earlier, earning a delightful twitch in the muscles of her abdomen. 

“Mm, out of interest, of course,” Josie teases, keeping her composure merely by a thread. She’s been busted, anyway — she knows that. “I would’ve preferred if you stayed the night,” she states, then shakes her head — if she’s going to give her what she wants, she’s going to do it properly. “I would’ve kissed your lips, your neck, that sensitive spot I  _ know _ you have just behind your ear — until you were begging me to stay. You make this noise when I bite your lip, — it’s dizzying,” Josie purrs, walking her fingertips over her bottom lip when tense quiet fills the line, and then, although muffled, that same noise bubbles up from Yaz’s throat. “Yes — that one, Yaz. it’s beautiful. What are you doing right now?”

The younger woman swallows thickly, fingertips pausing on their descent down her neck to draw back to the sensitive flesh behind her ear. She muffles another sound into the back of her palm. “I’m — I'm touching my neck, where you kissed me earlier, and I’m imagining you here,” she answers truthfully, reeling from the rasped hum she receives in response. “Are you —” 

“I am now,” Josie retorts, smoothing a hand down the space between her breasts before she circles a soft bud. She can’t help the soft sigh which melts against the receiver.

“Where?” Yaz whispers, almost too quiet to be heard. She dips her fingertips down, dancing along her collar, edging underneath as though awaiting permission. 

“My chest,” Josie huffs a short breath when she pinches the hardening peak between her thumb and forefinger, hips already twitching with their desperate need for attention. “Think you can touch your chest for me, Yaz? I’d love to hear the sounds you make,” she croons, and Yaz is momentarily flummoxed by how composed the blonde remains, while she’s already wound up entirely. 

“What — what would you do to my chest, Josie?” Yaz hums, peeling her pyjama top back — an oversized university t shirt which has faded with age and wear. She bares her breasts to the cool air of the room, palms already moving to cup and caress. Her phone sits on her pillow, amplifying the murmurs of pleasure from the other end of the line. 

“God, I wish I could see you right now, Yaz,” Josie murmurs, words ending on a gasp when her nails graze sensitive, hardened flesh. “If I was there right now, I’d be kissing your chest. I’d press my lips to your nipples and I’d graze my teeth over the skin there until you’re desperate for me to take you,” she husks, inhaling sharply when she moves to the other breast and pinches harshly. 

Yaz wets the tips of her fingers before circling and flicking over a dusky nipple. When she lifts her other hand to work them in tandem, she can’t help the soft moan which filters through the line. 

“Yaz,” Josie whines in pleasant surprise at the melodic sounds she’s garnering through the phone, a hot flush heating her cheeks. She dips a hand down, tracing around her belly button and humming when her muscles jump and twist beneath sensitive skin. Her free hand continues to flick and tease at her chest, shooting a direct line of hot, needy lust straight to the heat building between her legs. “I’d move to your stomach, next. I noticed —  _ ah _ — I noticed it earlier; how toned you are. I’d love to drag my nails over it, then my teeth. I’d love to mark you as my own.”

A sharp moan echoes into the current between their devices while Yaz closes her eyes, drawing her fingernails over the smooth muscles of her stomach towards the hem of her underwear. Her hips jump, nudging her fingertips further. “ _ Fuck _ , Josie,” she curses, the word unfamiliar on her lips. 

The blonde moans at the sound alone, dirty and filthy and so unlike her, but she’s secretly pleased she’s wound her up enough to coax it from her lips. “Where are you touching now, Yaz?” 

Her voice is liquid gold to Yaz’s ears, domineering but teetering on losing control. She traces the hem of her underwear, which is all but ruined by now. “I’m just about to — I want to touch myself, Josie. I’m so wound up. Please,” Yaz pleads, the dynamic seeming obvious by the way Josie gasps into her ear. 

“ _ Yaz.  _ God — you’re so good. Ask me again,” Josie commands, testing the waters. She lets her hand drift further, peeling away her sunshine-dotted underwear to cast it aside. She slides a hand up her thigh, then back down the other, thigh muscles clenching. 

“Please, Josie. Can I touch myself?” Yaz pleads, biting into her bottom lip to stifle another moan. Praise is bad enough when they’re in public and Josie’s being smug, but when she’s milimetres from flitting her fingers into slick heat, it almost makes her combust, then and there. 

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear you,” Josie orders gently, fingers brushing the inside of her thigh. “And yes, of course you can.”

The first ghost of digits against her receptive, swollen flesh is enough to send her spiralling over the edge in an instant, forcing a long-winded moan from the back of her throat directly into Josie’s ear as she holds back. She dances her fingers in circles against her clit, noting the exact moment Josie copies when she hears a stuttered groan and the shuffling of sheets through her phone. “Are you—?”

“Yes. God, I’m so close already,” Josie sighs, sliding slick digits through the length of her heat before pressing her thumb against her engorged bud. Her whole body shivers at the sensation, leaving the phone abandoned minus the sounds of their breathless whimpers and moans. 

“If I was there —” Yaz starts, words interrupted by a gasp when her free hand occupies itself with tight circles around her nipple, nails catching the oversensitive skin. “I’d have my tongue between your legs, worshipping you until you forgot your own name. I’d make you fall apart with my hands, my mouth — so many times, Josie.”

Now it’s Josie’s turn to whimper and whine, slipping a digit easily between her folds and into the blissful abyss it leads her to. Her walls futter and clench around the intrusion, hips twisting for more. She curls her finger, brushing her walls, and already begins seeing stars. “Yaz…”

“Josie,” Yaz gasps right back, applying more pressure to her clit with each swirl of her thumb. She grips at the sheets with her free hand, bunching the material in her fists. She’s never been this wound up in her life, desire radiating from her form in waves. 

Three minutes later, to a chorus of moans and whimpers, Josie creeps too close to the edge for comfort, breathless and desperate for release. “Yaz, I’m —” 

“ _ Fuck,  _ me too,” Yaz breathes, the strain in her voice a clear indicator that she’s just about holding on. “Together?”

“I’ll — oh my  _ god,  _ it feels so  _ good _ — I’ll count down,” Josie whimpers, biting down on her bottom lip when she almost loses it, then and there. She ascends back to the verge, the two fingers buried inside her stilling for a second while she catches her breath. 

“Three,” she gasps, picking her pace up again, fucking herself to the verge. 

“Two.” Yaz whines down the line, writhing against the sheets. Josie closes her eyes to imagine the scene, building her up all too fast. 

“One. Come for me, Yaz,” she purrs, crying out not a moment later when her walls clench around her thrusting fingers and leave her hurtling towards her release. Her pleasure is prolonged with the sound of her name on Yaz’s lips as she crests, followed by a series of high-pitched gasps and drawn-out moans. 

It takes a few minutes for both women to come back around, slick digits falling against the sheets at their sides. 

Yaz is the first to react, a breathless laugh falling against her microphone and warming Josie’s racing heart. “That was — something.”

“It — It really was,” Josie agrees, tiny aftershocks making her thighs tremble and toes curl against the sheets. She glances down, noting the white, puckered lines spreading like lightning bolts or tiger stripes along the tops of her thighs and the curves of her hip and stomach. She thinks of Yaz, her youthful, toned body untouched by the hands of motherhood, and breathes a small, despondent sigh. 

“Everything okay, babe? That wasn’t — that wasn’t too much, right?” Yaz asks down the line, words broken up by a sudden yawn. 

“It was amazing. Sorry — my head’s still a bit fuzzy. You got me good, Yaz,” Josie chuckles, forcing herself to quell her self-conscious thoughts and return to the present. “You should sleep. You’ve got to be up in — god, Yaz, you have to be up in six hours!” 

“You sound like my mum. Honestly, I’ll be fine,” Yaz teases, rolling onto her side and tucking her mobile beneath her ear. She tucks the sheets up around herself and breaks into another yawn. “... Okay, maybe I should be going.”

Josie laughs, sleepy and sated. She slips back beneath the sheets to keep her thoughts away from anything other than the sound of Yasmin Khan’s voice on the edge of slumber. “Goodnight, Yaz. Sweet dreams.”

“After  _ that _ , I doubt sweet is all they’re going to be,” Yaz giggles, tucking the sheets up to her chin and breathing a pleased sigh. “Goodnight, Josie. See you in the morning.”

When the phone thrums to alert her to the end of the call, Josie drops her head against her pillow and smiles into the lure of slumber. 

Over a bowl of cereal the next morning, Wren meets her mother’s gaze in quiet concern. “Mummy? Did you have a bad dream about Yaz last night? I think I heard you crying her name.”

Josie chokes into her coffee. 


	10. sweet creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!!!! : D
> 
> tw: alcoholism

“Sweetie? It’s time for school!” Josie pads through from her room, navy, polka-dot pyjamas hugging her form. There’s dry toothpaste clinging to the corner of her lips when she frowns at Wren’s closed bedroom door, brows pinching together in mild concern. 

“Wren?” she tries again, and when only a mild whine comes from behind the door, she turns the handle and pokes her head around the frame. There’s a Wren-shaped lump curled into the sheets, eyes half-closed. “Come on, love, I know it’s comfy but you can’t stay in bed forever,” she murmurs gently, rounding to her side and perching on the edge of the bed. 

When she reaches out to brush the back of her hand against her daughter’s cheek, however, she’s met with tepid, clammy skin. Wren blinks up at her, offering up a croaky cough. “Mummy, I don’t feel well.”

Foregoing her instinctive maternal panic, Josie peels the sheets back to move her hand to her forehead, where the skin is flushed and warm. She frowns. “What’s wrong, love? Can you tell me how you’re feeling? Your temperature’s a little high for my liking.”

“My throat feels not very nice. And I’m all achy,” Wren rasps, shifting to curl up on her side and reach out for her mother. “I’m cold but I'm warm, can I have a cuddle?” Her green irises are a little bloodshot, smokey shadows painted against the usually vibrant skin under her eyes. 

“Of course, babe. I can’t send you to school like this, anyway. Did you sleep okay?” Josie quips, already knowing the answer. She slips into the bed beside her, opening her arms for Wren to shuffle closer. She moulds against her chest in the same way she did as an infant, warm and whole and a silent comfort to Josie’s weathered heart. 

Wren muffles her response against her chest, where she breathes a soft sigh. “No, my head hurt too much.”

Josie rubs a hand up and down her daughter’s back, offering up a hum of understanding. “That’s okay, sweetie. Close your eyes, I'll be here as long as you need.” Her words are whispered, refusing Wren’s headache the opportunity to bloom further. 

She breathes in the scent of lavender shampoo, the same brand she’s always used. It brings back old memories of tiny, pink hands and staggered nights nursing a restless baby amidst broken glass bottles and the hurtful exchanging of words. 

_ “You’re going to wake Rowan. Please, Callie, have some water and go to bed. I've been up all night wondering where you were,” Josie informs the brunette stumbling from the doorway to the sofa, a half-finished bottle of beer in her hand and the smell of a rowdy pub clinging to her hair and clothes like smoke from a fire.  _

_ “Rowan, Rowan, Rowan — she’s all you ever talk about now, Josie. I’m your wife; Callie? Remember me?” the brunette rasps, alcohol twisting and constricting her words into the bite of a serpent. She sets the bottle down with more force than necessary, sending shards of glass to the floor like a million broken promises.  _

_ “Because you never talk about her anymore, Callie! Or spend time with her! She’s our daughter, why can’t you control yourself enough to stay sober for her for five minutes?” Josie bites back just above a whisper, carding her fingers through her hair. She’s tired and exasperated and clinging desperately onto a thread which leads nowhere.  _

_ “How can I, when every time I try, you watch over me like a hawk?” Callie spits back, words slurred but strong enough to make Josie flinch.  _

_ “Look at yourself, Callie. Look how you’re behaving. That’s why,” Josie counters, green eyes gaining a transparent sheen. She buries her head in her hands with a shuddering sob, leant forward on her knees on the couch they’d bought from their university landlord with Josie’s first paycheck. A good luck charm, of sorts — so much for that now. “There’s a fucking hickey on your neck, and that’s definitely not my lipstick on your cheek.” _

_ “Fuck,” Callie whispers harshly, locks falling from their place in her updo when she drags her fingers through them in frustration — at herself, entirely. She sinks into the couch at her wife’s side, reaching out to draw her against her. When Josie resists, glancing up in utter anguish, her heart breaks twice over, fingers twitching for another bottle, lips dry, craving the numbing qualities only alcohol can offer. “I’m — fuck, Josie. It’s not — I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” _

_ The blonde shifts away from her foul-smelling form, drawing a cushion to her chest and regarding her through a blur of salty tears. “Get out. Go sober up in someone else’s bed.”  _

_ “Josie, I’m not —” Callie blinks in surprise at Josie’s tone, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes despite her hardened exterior.  _

_ “Get out, Callie,” Josie repeats, this time firmer, colder, as though drawing a shield over her emotions and blocking the closest person to her out. Above them, a shrill cry echoes from the nursery, forcing the blonde instinctively to her feet. She wipes her cheeks free of tears and heads towards the stairs, turning back on the third step. “I’m going to comfort my daughter. You better be gone by the time I come back down.” _

_ Disappearing into the nursery, Josie gently scoops the crying infant into her arms, rocking on her feet to help soothe her to a series of quiet whimpers. When she overhears the front door creak open, then click shut, she sobs freely against the top of her daughter’s head.  _

“Mummy? Mummy, are you okay?” Wren murmurs, propped against Josie’s chest, a worried frown weighing her lips down. 

Josie must’ve drifted off, because when she glances at the clock it reads half-past ten. Wren blinks sleepily at her, reaching out to catch the tear which rolls down her cheek. “Sorry, love. Bad dream, that’s all. Do you mind if I go and grab my phone? I think Yaz must’ve noticed our disappearance by now, and I can fetch you some medicine for your head, too.” She sits up, wiping at her cheeks quickly before tucking her daughter back into the sheets. “Stay here and have some more rest, okay? I’ll let Yaz now you’re under the weather.”

“Can you tell her I said hello?” Wren quips with the greatest amount of enthusiasm she can muster, replacing her mother’s presence with her favourite soft toy elephant when she relaxes back into her pillows. 

“Of course, love. Back in a tick.” Josie presses a doting kiss to her daughter’s forehead before padding quietly from the room. 

After slipping out of her pyjamas and changing into a pair of leggings and an old band tee, Josie reaches for her mobile. It had been a few days since their  _ interesting _ phone call, and now every time she spots her caller ID she can’t help the memories returning to the forefront of her mind. Clearing her throat, she shoots a quick text her way. 

_ Wren’s not feeling too well today, I think it’s just a passing cold. She’ll be back in on Monday, hopefully. x _

Then, hesitating for only a second, she sends another. 

_ Missed seeing you this morning. Have a great day! x _

She jogs down the stairs, then, heading into the kitchen to fish out any flu medicine she can find. By the time she returns to Wren’s room, her daughter has almost fallen back into the hands of slumber. “Hey, sweetie? Sorry for waking you, but I promise this will make you feel better.” 

Wren rouses with a faint hum, sitting up when she notices her mother’s presence. She’s usually pretty clingy when she’s feeling unwell, so she’s surprised she hasn’t coaxed her into another cuddle straight away. “Is it the one which tastes like toothpaste?” she asks in disgust, scrunching her nose in protest. 

“No, no. This one’s the nice medicine, I promise,” Josie retorts with a fond smile, pouring a small amount into a spoon and raising it to Wren’s lips. It’s a bright shade of pink, piquing Wren’s interest, and, to Josie’s relief, doesn’t seem to taste too bad. “See? Don't know what you're fussing about.”

“It tastes like bubblegum,” Wren notes after swallowing the thick liquid, sniffing quickly when her nose starts to run. Josie is ready in an instant, tissue in hand, wiping at her button nose before the youngster can bat her away. “Mummy!”

“What? Can’t have you turning into the bogey monster, can we?” Josie teases, then reaches for the bottle of medicine again. “Okay, one more spoonful and then I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Wren opens her mouth for another dose, making a droning plane noise as the spoon heads towards her lips. She swallows thickly and flops back down into the sheets dramatically. “No more.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Josie chuckles, reaching out to ruffle Wren’s locks. She checks her phone for any new messages, smiling fondly when Yaz’s response comes through. 

_ Oh, no! I hope she’s feeling better soon, the class is pretty quiet without her. I’ll call you at lunchtime for any updates. Give her a hug from me. x  _

Less than a minute later, another message appears. 

_ Missed you too. x _

“Yaz says get well soon, sweetie. And she told me to give you a hug,” Josie hums, shuffling up to scoop the youngster into her arms and squeeze until she giggles. 

“Yaz gives really good hugs,” Wren murmurs, curling up in her lap and clinging on like a monkey. She sneezes into her forearm, offering up a hazy little look. “My head feels a bit better already.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Josie agrees, curling her fingers through Wren’s locks and gently untangling any knots she finds. “And that’s good! You reckon you’re well enough to have some breakfast?”

Wren nods against her shoulder, curling her fingers into the sleeves of her starry pyjama top and refusing to move from her lap. Josie stands anyway, curling an arm around her to hold her while she makes her way to the door and down the stairs. 

She flicks the kettle on as she enters, craving a dose of coffee. “Gonna let me put you down or am I going to have to carry you everywhere today?” she teases as she reaches for some bread. “Toast or cereal, sweetie?”

“You’re warm, I’m staying here,” Wren states matter-of-factly, looping her arms around her mother’s neck. “Toast, please.”

“Good manners, babe,” Josie brushes a kiss to her forehead, slotting a few slices into the toaster with plenty to go around. She moves to the fridge to fetch some butter, tapping out a rhythm against Wren’s side. “Jam or chocolate spread?”

“Chocolate spread!” Wren counters within milliseconds, earning a chortle from her mother. 

“Never would’ve guessed.”

The four year old manages to nibble through a slice of toast before giving in to the queasiness in her stomach, nestling back into her mother’s chest with a sniff. They’ve moved to the couch, cartoons filling the quiet. Josie reaches down to ghost her fingers over her hairline. “One more bite, sweetie?”

“Can’t,” Wren sighs, curling her fingers into Josie’s t-shirt and closing her eyes to fight the sting in the back of her throat when she swallows, the fogginess to her mind and the heaviness to her eyelids. 

Josie draws a blanket from the back of the couch, gently maneuvring the youngster to lay down, her head in her lap. “Okay, have some more rest and tell me if you’re hungry again, okay? I’m not leaving unless it's for custard creams.” 

With a giggle, Wren settles against her, tucking her thumb between her lips and submitting to fatigue. Josie turns the volume on the television down, reaching for a sketchbook to entertain her wandering thoughts. 

By the time Wren next rouses for a sip of water, a drawing of Yaz with a fluffy tiger tucked under her arm has etched itself across the page. Josie can’t help but smile at the memory, a flutter in her chest alerting her to the development in their relationship. She really ought to bring it up, to address it like a mature adult, but she’d break if it scared the centre of her universe away. For now, she’ll keep it to herself, wrap it up in chains and padlock it to return to in the future. 

She’s dozing off again when her phone buzzes to life beside her, and Wren stirs with a grumble, curling an arm around Josie’s stomach to hide her face against her hip. “Sorry, love, do you mind if I slip away for a second to take this call?”

Wren nods reluctantly, slipping from her lap when Josie pulls herself up, phone in hand. She tucks herself into the warmth she leaves behind, drawing her blanket back up to her chin when shivers begin racking her form. “Please don’t be long, mummy.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Josie whispers, dropping a doting kiss to her flushed cheek before slipping quietly into the kitchen. She accepts the call and lifts her mobile to her ear. 

“Josie! Hi, how’s she doing?” Yaz murmurs as soon as the call comes through, worry lacing every word to slip from her tongue. When Josie doesn’t respond right away, flicking the kettle on and popping a tea bag into her favourite mug with a sigh, her concern only increases. “Josie, is everything okay?”

“Sorry! It’s one of those days. She’s doing okay, just a sore throat and a case of the sniffles,” Josie replies, though Yaz can tell by her tone that there’s something more to the anxious, distracted sound of her voice.

“Babe?” Yaz probes, fingertips toying at the corner of the page in front of her until the paper no longer flattens out properly. “Are  _ you _ okay?” When Josie breathes a stuttered sigh down the line, as though on the verge of tears, Yaz reels in surprise. “Josie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine! I’m okay, I swear,” Josie chuckles, but the sound is a little sad. She knows Yaz isn’t stupid, though, so she doesn’t keep her facade up for long. “I just hate seeing her anything but happy and energetic. It sounds silly, I know, but when it comes to Wren, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her again,” she admits, keeping her wavering words at a low volume so her daughter isn’t disturbed. 

Yaz offers up a hum of tender understanding, resisting the urge to simply ditch her classroom and run to Josie’s side. She picks up on the ‘again’ Josie whispers but decides to leave that for now, because she’s upset and worried and deserving of some much-needed affection as soon as Yaz finishes work. “Hey, hey. None of that — you’re making total sense, Josie. You’re worried about your daughter, that’s the most natural feeling you can have, but she’s going to be absolutely fine, okay? She’s Wren — a silly cold is barely going to harm her.” 

Josie’s heart slows to a steadier pace in her chest, panic filtering away like leaves in autumn gusts. She takes in every syllable Yaz murmurs tentatively into her ear, sniffling away the last of her unshed tears while boiling water joins the tea bag in her mug. “Yeah, that — that makes me feel a little better,” Josie responds quietly, taking a slow inhale through her nose. She pauses for a moment, and then — “Yaz?”

The younger woman smiles to herself at the hint of hope her voice has embraced, tipping her head to the side and nestling her mobile against her shoulder while she marks this morning’s handwriting tests. “Yes, babe?”

The pet name continues to turn her heart to mush, as well as her brain. “Do you think — do you reckon you could come over, after school? There’s no rush, I just — I wouldn’t mind the company, and I’m sure Wren would love to see you, too. She says hi, by the way.”

“Believe me, there’s no encouragement needed, Josie. I was just about to make the same suggestion,” Yaz croons, and Josie can practically hear the dopey smile on her face. 

“You’re too good to us, Yaz. Have I already said that?” Josie chuckles, adding milk to the pool of dark liquid in front of her. She leans against the counter once she’s done, sparing a glance to the dozing form of her daughter again. 

“I think you might’ve, yes. If you keep going, I'll develop an ego,” Yaz teases, sitting back when she realises she’s too distracted to continue her marking. 

“You could never,” Josie remarks, idly taking a sip of her tea and hissing when it burns her tongue. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that. What have I told you about waiting until your tea has cooled before drinking it, Josie?” Yaz chides playfully, encouraging a pink hue to spread from Josie’s ears to the slope of her neck. 

“It wasn’t — I didn’t — I’m  _ thirsty,  _ okay? Patience is for wimps,” Josie retorts, every inch her daughter. 

“Well, I'm going to have to go now. I have playground duty in five minutes but I’ll be sure to drop by and see my two favourite children when I’m finished for the day,” Yaz divulges, laughter ringing through the line when she hears Josie’s spluttered huff. She’d choked on her tea. 

“I’ll see you later. Have a nice afternoon and try not to get ambushed by too many small children during lunch duty,” Josie teases, catching her breath back. She sidles over to the cupboard and digs out a can of soup, settling it on the countertop. 

“Laters, babe,” Yaz hums in return, sticking around to hear the giggle her words elicit from the blonde before she hangs up. 

There’s a knock at her classroom door and she pads over to open it, one of her more troublesome pupils rocking on his toes in the doorway. “Mr O’Brien told me to come inside because I accidentally dug up the flowers in Miss Noble’s class garden.” 

“ _ Accidentally _ ?” Yaz arches a brow, folding her arms, blinking back into teacher-mode.

“She left a spade there!” Theo argues, as though the act could entirely be blamed on her. 

Yaz heaves a sigh, pointing to the desk behind her. “Sit down, Theo. Let me give you a quick lesson on taking responsibility for one’s actions.”

* * *

By the time half past three has rolled around, Wren has successfully ingested a full bowl of tomato soup and another piece of toast, much to her indignation. 

Josie is washing up the last of their cutlery when there’s a familiar five-beat knock on the door, drawing Wren’s attention away from the cartoon family on the television and towards who she considers the newest member of her own. “Yaz is here! Can I open the door?”

“Of course, honey,” Josie nods, returning to scrub down the last bowl while Wren hurries towards the door. 

“Yaz!” Wren cries, albeit croakily, when the door swings open to reveal the young woman, already crouching to her level to scoop her up. She draws her into a hug as she steps inside, nudging the door closed behind her. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Yaz coos, noticing the faint flush to her cheeks and the way she winces when she swallows. The sight leaves an uncomfortable weight on her heartstrings. 

“Achy,” Wren replies, slipping her arms around her neck as she’s carried through to the living room. “But mummy’s been here all day to look after me. I’ve slept lots.” she nods her head as if agreeing with her own statement, then turns her head to cough dryly into her palm. 

“Let’s fetch you some water for that cough, shall we?” Yaz quips in concern, wondering through to the kitchen after setting the child down on the sofa. She smiles at the sight of Josie, a reflex-action she can’t seem to shake — not that she wants to. “Hey.”

Turning at the sound of her voice, Josie’s lips mirror her own, slipping her hands from a pair of yellow washing up gloves. “Hi, how was your day?”

“Same old, same old. It’s surprising the difference it makes to my class when Wren’s not there. They were pretty quiet, minus the usual troublemakers,” Yaz rounds to her side, reaching out to touch her hand to her bare forearm. “You okay?” 

“I’ll be fine, it was just a blip. I always panic when there’s even a tiny chance of her being ill,” Josie chuckles, the notion self-deprecating and a little embarrassed. 

“You have nothing to feel bad about, Josie. Despite knowing close to nothing about being a mother, I'm pretty sure that’s a natural response,” Yaz reassures her, catching the slow blush creeping across her cheeks with a warm smile. She pauses, then, before she proposes her next question. “You said ‘again’, earlier, when you were talking about Wren being ill. What did you mean by that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Josie wets her lips, reaching up to rub at the back of her neck. “She had a bout of chickenpox when she was six months old, which was around the time Callie started causing havoc. She was there, though, she stuck by our side, even when she had to be admitted to hospital. It was a bit hit-and-miss for a while, so now every time she shows even the slightest symptom, I can’t help but think — the worst, basically,” she picks at her sleeve with her free hand, looking smaller than ever. 

“I’m so sorry, Josie. God — you’re totally allowed to feel that way. Now, can I please give you a hug? You really look like you could do with one.” Yaz’s words are comforting and reassuring in the best way, easing the sudden influx of tension in Josie’s shoulders. 

“God, yes,” Josie sighs, stepping forward into open arms and the welcome comfort she craves. She buries her face in Yaz’s collar, breathing her in until she’s everywhere all at once — the only thing she can see, hear, smell. It’s a moment of bliss, and she momentarily pities anyone who doesn’t have their own Yasmin Khan.

Yaz responds in kind, arms curling around Josie’s neck while the blonde’s wind around her waist, securing her against her. She presses a kiss to her hairline, then the crease between her brows, holding her for as long as she wants, as long as she needs. 

When the blonde pulls back with a bashful smile, the tension in her features has eased. She drops her arms in favour of taking Yaz’s hands into her own, fingers weaving together. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Yaz hums, cupping her cheek to press a shy kiss to her lips. “Now I should really grab Wren that glass of water before she comes in and tells us off,” she notes as she slips away from her, turning to fetch a glass from the cupboard as though she lives there herself. Once filled, she takes the glass into the living room to find Wren transfixed on a repeat of  _ Scooby-Doo _ . 

“ _ Scooby-Doo _ ! I haven’t seen this in years,” Yaz remarks, settling into the space beside Wren and watching on as Josie takes her place on the other side. 

“You like  _ Scooby-Doo _ ?” Wren questions in surprise, shuffling up to her side and unashamedly taking Yaz’s hand into her own. Josie watches the interaction, gooey-eyed and warm. 

“ _ Everyone  _ likes  _ Scooby-Doo _ , sweetheart,” Yaz replies playfully, giving Wren’s hand a squeeze. 

“I told you we should keep her, mummy,” Wren murmurs happily to the blonde at her side, who simply chuckles, cheeks gaining colour. 

They’re four episodes in when Wren’s stomach gives an audible rumble, earning a wave of laughter from the four year old. She glances down at her chubby stomach with a grin, then between the two women. “Did you hear that? That was so loud!”

Josie snorts into an open palm when Wren begins chanting the words ‘do it again’ at her clothed tummy, glancing in Yaz’s direction to find her state mirrored. 

“Sweetie, if you’re hungry, we could always order in? If — if that’s alright with your mum, of course?” Yaz prompts, reaching out to tickle her fingertips over Wren’s grumbling stomach. She squirms instantly, giggling as she desperately writhes out of her reach. Josie catches her when she flops into her lap, humoured by the glare Wren sends in Yaz’s direction. 

“I’ll never say no to a takeaway,” Josie reveals, carding her fingers through Wren’s hair to encourage her to settle again. “What would you like, Wren? Are you feeling hungry?” 

“A little bit,” Wren shrugs, pausing to sneeze into cupped hands. Yaz is quick to reach for the box of tissues on the coffee table, offering one out to the youngster. With a grateful smile, she dabs at her sore, red nose. “Can we get pizza? I even eat the crusts!”

“Pizza it is!” Yaz is sold right away, slipping her phone from her pocket to load up her takeaway app. 

When it arrives, Josie has to physically hold her daughter back, laughing when Yaz compares her to an enthusiastic puppy at the first smell of food. 

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me, Josie,” Yaz remarks at the first sight of her pizza, the coffee table lost amidst two large cardboard boxes and a fizzy drink. 

Josie blinks in confusion for a moment, a slice of ham and pineapple pizza hovering just shy of her lips. Then, when Yaz glances pointedly to the yellow fruit clinging to mozzarella, she connects the dots. “Oh,  _ no.  _ Do  _ not _ tell me I'm dating a pineapple-on-pizza hater.”

Yaz shakes her head slowly, glancing over the offending food with restrained disapproval. “It’s fruit! You can’t have fruit on pizza!” 

“Can you hear something, Wren?” Josie quips to the youngster perched between them, who glances up in amused delight. “Sounds like a distant voice, but I can’t work out the words.” 

“I can only hear the television,” Wren quips back, offering Yaz a mischievous giggle before biting into her slice of pizza.

“You invite me over, then ignore me?” Yaz huffs teasingly, glaring mostly in Josie’s direction. 

Wren shuffles up to her side in silent apology, sniffling, gaze preoccupied with the television while she smiles around another bite of pizza. 

The blonde turns, creases lining the corners of her eyes as she holds back laughter. With Wren’s new position, Josie moves a touch closer, sliding an arm around the back of the sofa and settling her hand on Yaz’s shoulder. She offers a squeeze when Yaz sends her a surprisingly affectionate smile. “You can’t say you don’t enjoy our presence, Yaz.”

Yaz rolls her eyes in utter fondness for the two girls at her side, Josie’s reverent touches coaxing a warm, calming sensation from the depths of her being. “Wren’s pretty great, yeah, and I guess you’ll do,” she quips in a teasing manner, giving Josie’s hand a gentle pat.

“Mummy? Did you hear that? Yaz prefers me,” Wren chimes proudly from where she’s curled up to Yaz’s side, her feet lifting to drop into Josie’s lap. 

“Loud and clear, sweetie, loud and clear. It’s alright, I see how it is,” Josie responds amidst a huff of laughter from Yaz. She meets her gaze when, hidden from sight, her fingertips crawl with ghosting pressure along to the base of her neck, tracing her instantaneously quickening pulse. In a perfectly innocent tone, she reveals, “I’ll just have to prove you wrong at some point.”

Suitably surprised and embarrassingly, a little turned on, Yaz shifts, drawing her legs up beneath her if only to press her thighs together. Wren adjusts, head dropping to Yaz’s shoulder when the food, the television and her bout of illness leave her fatigued. 

“Not gonna happen,” Wren mumbles, oblivious and sleepy. 

Josie notices Yaz’s subtle movements with a shit-eating grin. She’s still got it. 

A comfortable quiet settles around them when an episode of  _ Art Attack _ illuminates the screen, earning a delighted smile from mother and daughter consecutively — something which Yaz notices right away. She’s hardly surprised. 

“Wren, Wren, Wren — I think this is the one where they make paintings from blowing bubbles! We  _ have  _ to try this sometime,” Josie announces with the excitement of a child receiving a balloon for the first time. 

Wren, a little more docile, simply beams. “Can we do it tomorrow? It’s Saturday! That’s craft day.”

“That’s a solid plan, Wren,” Josie agrees, reaching out to touch the back of her hand to her forehead. To her comfort, her temperature has receded tenfold since she first tested it this morning. Yaz offers a reassuring smile as though reading her mind, a silent offering of support to the worried parent. “Only if you’re feeling better, though.”

Yaz watches the moment between them with a dazed smile, their easy conversation and affectionate gazes melting her heart into a million pools. 

Josie’s hand briefly leaves her shoulder when she reaches for a lukewarm slice of pizza, purposely meeting Yaz’s gaze when she takes a bite into a pineapple-saturated section. “ _ Mmm _ .”

“You’re treading a fine line, Josie,” Yaz warns, though she’s momentarily distracted when, finding Yaz’s side apparently not comfortable enough, Wren clambers into her lap instead. She returns her head to her shoulder as though going unnoticed entirely, thumb tucked between her lips. “Comfier, sweetheart?”

Josie merely chuckles, shuffling up to relinquish the extra space between them. “She’s like this when she’s tired,” she explains when Wren simply replies with a contented hum. 

Despite her initial panic, Yaz takes to the new experience like a duck to water, relaxing into the couch and winding a protective arm around Wren’s form. She’s lucky she’s so petite, her tiny frame curling easily into her hold. 

Josie reaches for her sketchpad when the urge to capture the moment overcomes any other feeling, graphite dancing over bound cotton under the curious eye of the young teacher. In the process of firmer strokes of pencil across paper, a loose page falls from her book. Yaz catches it just before it slips from the couch, unfolding and opening out a sketch of — 

“Is that me? From the other night?” she quips quietly, not wishing to jostle the youngster in her lap, who slips in and out of slumber. When she notices the soft toy tucked to her chest, she smiles in absolute admiration at her defined, perfect lines. “It is, isn’t it?” 

Josie ducks her head when a faint flush blossoms from her neck up, shrugging modestly. “Yeah. I sketched it out as soon as I got back, actually.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Yaz whispers, dumbfounded. “I keep telling you — you really need to make something out of this, babe. You’re so talented,” she continues, fingertips tracing the outline of neon signs.

“Well, what can I say? I was inspired. And if I  _ do  _ end up doing anything, you’re going to have to stick around, I'm afraid. I’ve only really been motivated since —” she pauses, swallowing, summoning up courage. “ — since Wren’s first day of school.”

“Really?” Yaz probes, flummoxed, a little bashful. She watches as Josie returns to her current sketch with no hesitation, filling in Wren’s sleepy features. “Guess I'm not leaving any time soon, then — not that I was planning to, anyway.” Her words are earnest and true, giving false hope a kick up the arse for good measure. 

The blonde falters in her ministrations to allow her to glance up, catching Yaz’s eye with a glisten to her own. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Khan.”

_ God,  _ saying her name so formally really shouldn’t set Yaz alight like this. She gets it every day at work, so why is Josie any different?  _ Oh, wait —  _ she just licked her lips, and she’s still looking at her. Was that intentional? That was definitely intentional — right? 

Josie winks when she finds she can all but  _ hear _ Yaz’s thoughts spiralling, the flush to her cheeks confirming her effect. 

_ Definitely intentional.  _

Quelling the heat before she perishes from internal combustion, Yaz returns her gaze to the television, drawing gentle patterns against Wren’s back when she stirs from her sleep to sniffle quietly. She allows Josie to finish off her sketch in comfortable quiet, only occasionally glancing over to take a peek. 

By the time she’s finished, Wren has drifted off entirely, breathing soft huffs against Yaz’s shoulder, a dead weight against her chest. Yaz takes in her innocent, unscathed and untroubled features with a look usually reserved for Josie, warmth and affection and a dusting of love giving way to a slow, unfiltered smile. 

She doesn’t even notice Josie slipping the page back into her sketchbook and observing quietly, curiously. Since their first proper outing, her relationship and confidence with Wren has built and progressed smoothly, joisting any anxieties Josie experienced initially into the very back of her mind. 

She’s a mother, and her main priority is Wren, but Yaz has proven herself worthy thirteen times over. 

“Hey, babe —” Josie starts, nodding towards the sleeping child. “ — I should probably take her up to bed.”

Hopefully, but a little shyly, as though she doesn’t wish to disrespect Josie’s proposition, Yaz stands with the youngster in her arms. “I can — I can take her up if you like?” 

“Of course,” Josie encourages, quelling her maternal instinct in order to allow Yaz’s to grow further. “I’ll just clear the food up and save any leftovers, then I’ll come up to say goodnight.”

Giddy with the prospect of such an intimate responsibility, Yaz pads up the stairs carefully, heading for the second door on the right once she’s reached the top. It’s hard to miss, really, with Wren’s name labelled along the door in swirling calligraphy. She doesn’t have to question who’s talented hands led to its creation, but while settling the sleeping four year old in her bed and tucking her in, she really ought not to be thinking about her mother’s hands. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I hope you’re feeling lots better in the morning,” Yaz breathes into the quiet of her room, dancing her fingertips over the young girl’s hairline before leaving a kiss there for safe-keeping. “I lo—” 

“Has she settled okay?” Comes a voice from the doorway, followed by quiet footsteps into the room as Josie enters. It breaks Yaz’s train of thought and leaves her a little speechless at her own half-spoken revelation. 

“Uh — hm? Oh, — oh, yeah, she’s fine. This cold must’ve really worn her out, huh?” Yaz murmurs once her thoughts are back on track. 

“You okay?” Josie quips at the hint of panic she spots dancing in her pupils, even in the low glow of Wren’s rainbow night light. She reaches out, touching their fingers together, her smile gentle. 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day, my brain’s a bit jumbled,” she whispers in return, earning the pressure of soft lips against her cheek. Warmth spreads upwards from the tips of her toes to the curve of her ears. 

Josie offers up a small smile, pupils dancing in the multicoloured light. She only breaks away to crouch at Wren’s bedside, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes and replacing its presence with a kiss. “Goodnight, angel. Sweet dreams.”

A muffled hum melts into the youngster’s pillow by way of response. Josie backs up, straightening up and taking Yaz’s hand to lead her from the room silently. The door is closed as quietly as possible behind them, and then it’s just the two of them, hands intertwined, in the reticent comfort only a family home late in the evening can offer. 

“I should probably be heading off, you look exhausted,” Yaz speaks first, giving her …  _ friend’s(?) _ hand a squeeze. 

“Oh, cheers. First ‘you’ll do’, then ‘you look exhausted’. I’m hurt, Yaz,” Josie teases, levelling their gazes with a smirk. 

“Oh, you  _ know _ what I mean, Josie,” Yaz retorts, breathing a laugh. She returns her smirk with a shy smile, not quite ready to leave her yet, but too polite to risk overstaying her welcome. 

“Stay,” Josie whispers into the space between them, rocking on her toes outside the door to her bedroom with the woman currently picking her heart apart with kindness and unwavering optimism. “For tonight. It’s a Saturday tomorrow, you don’t have to worry about work,” she reasons like a child asking desperately for a puppy for Christmas, and suddenly Yaz remembers a very similar scenario from a few weeks ago. 

“Am I having Deja Vu? I swear we’ve had this conversation before,” Yaz chimes teasingly, glancing between their interlocked hands and then back to green pools. “And — are you sure it’s not too much bother?”

Josie visibly brightens, like a child receiving their first RSVP for a birthday party they’d been planning months for. “Of course not, I wouldn’t ask you otherwise, — is that a yes?” 

“Yes, Josie,” Yaz confirms with a giddy giggle, giving in to the gentle pull of Josie’s hand as she leads her into her room. It’s sleek and tidy, with a large double bed and shelves of books. Dark blue coats the largest of the walls, the rest a brilliant white or a pale grey. “Nice room — I expected it to be more —” 

“Messy? I get that from my mum a lot. Apparently, my personality just  _ shouts  _ disorganised, huh?” Josie laughs, letting go of Yaz’s hand so she can route through her drawers. She retrieves a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms and a Biffy Clyro t-shirt, offering them up shyly. “Here; you can borrow these if you like?”

“Yep, I’d have to agree with her — I think we’d get along well,” Yaz agrees, accepting the clothing she offers a minute later. “Oh, perfect. Thank you. Good taste, too,” 

“You’d be like two peas in a pod,” Josie confirms, stepping back to rub a hand over the back of her neck when Yaz begins unbuttoning the top few buttons of her shirt with no thought towards Josie’s already racing heart. “And thanks. I’ll — I’ll go and brush my teeth — and give you some privacy. I’ll be right back,” she plucks her own pyjamas from the end of her bed, disappearing through her bedroom door in a flourish.

Yaz simply chuckles at her retreating form. Her borrowed pyjamas are a welcome change to her work clothes, which she sets in a neat pile on the floor at her bedside. She glances around the room while the blonde is still occupied, tracing her fingertips down the spines of multiple fine art and illustrator’s guides, alongside a dozen more sketchbooks bursting at the seams with drawings. She daren’t look, though. She’d rather have her permission first. 

When she returns, Josie is dressed in an oversized plain black t-shirt and star-dusted leggings, with fluffy blue socks. “I love the socks,” Yaz notes, peeling back the sheets on one side while Josie draws them back on the other. 

“Thanks, — they were actually a present for Wren from my grandma, but she had the sizes mixed up so I ended up with them. She was always a bit batty — my nan,” Josie responds with a breezy laugh, sinking into the mattress with a satisfied hum. 

It takes Yaz a moment to realise she’s learnt more about Josie’s family in the last ten minutes than the last month entirely. She lingers beside the bed for a moment, as if awaiting permission to join the very comfy looking blonde. 

“I won’t bite, I promise,” Josie teases gently, patting the spot beside her and rolling onto her side, propped up on one elbow. When Yaz finally slips between the sheets, settling on her back and glancing up at the blonde with a sleepy smile, she reaches out to card her fingers gently through her hair. “Not unless you ask me to, anyway.”

Yaz shivers involuntarily at her latter comment, leaning into her touch and wishing away the sudden need to fulfil that offer. “ _ Babe,”  _ she warns, arching a brow. 

“I thought I was being smooth!” Josie argues weakly, amusedly, drawing her fingertips from her hair to trace the curve of her jaw instead. 

“Better luck next ti—” Yaz’s words are cut off by the gentle, explorative press of lips against her own, and she can’t complain any longer because Josie is kissing her in her bed and they’re inching ever so close to border between dating and something new and fresh and exciting. She responds in kind, featherlight kisses giving way to quietly curious hands and the faintest of sighs. 

Josie settles her hand against the curve of her neck, tongue sweeping along her bottom lip before probing for entrance. She’s granted it a moment later, earning a hum when she starts to explore. 

Yaz lifts a hand to settle at her waist when Josie leans over her a touch more, resting a forearm beside her head to keep her steady, curling around her as though protecting priceless jewels. 

Once both parties are breathless and flushed, Josie ducks her head to trace delicate patterns over Yaz’s neck with swollen lips, coaxing a breathy sigh from the woman beneath her. Yaz’s stomach coils with re-awoken need, melting under the other woman’s reverent kisses. 

They’re edging into unknown territory when Josie suddenly pulls back to breathe a yawn into her palm, catching Yaz off-guard and leaving her giggling giddily into her pillow. Foregoing the heat brimming between her legs, Josie grumbles to herself in defeat. “Perhaps we should —” another yawn forces her eyes closed and the fire in her stomach to extinguish slightly. “ — leave this for when we’re a little more conscious? Sorry.”

Yaz takes in the desire still barely painting her pupils and the sleepy smile on her lips with a chiding smile. “Get some sleep, babe.” She gently maneuvres her onto her back, casting an arm over her hips and tucking her head into the junction between her shoulder and neck once she’s settled. “Is this — is this okay?”

Josie breathes a series of affectionate kisses against the top of her head, breathing in her now-familiar scent. It’s calming, not to mention the way it warms her to her very core. She reaches out, drawing her closer, encouraging a toned thigh to hook over her hip. “It’s perfect.”

Ten minutes of comfortable silence, minus a few breathy yawns and fatigued sighs, and Josie still can’t seem to give in to the lure of slumber, teetering on the edge with a mouthful of words she can’t disperse. 

Three minutes later, she gives up on holding back. “Yaz? You still awake?”

Yaz shifts, inhaling against the slope of her neck. She blinks her eyes open in the dark. “Mm-hm? You okay?”

Josie stares at the ceiling, too nervous to catch Yaz’s eyes in the dark because she just knows she won’t be able to fulfil her request otherwise. “Do you — would you mind — no, that’s a bad way of phrasing it. How would you feel about — about being my girlfriend?”

A short gasp of surprise echoes into the crooks and edges of the room, then a minute of near-silence. Josie’s hand is beginning to tremble against Yaz’s back, and Yaz can all but hear the racing pulse in her neck. 

“It’s too soon, right? Never mind, pretend I never said anyth—” Josie starts, all anxious movements and wavering words. 

“Yes, I’d love that,” Yaz whispers, almost quiet enough not to be heard. But Josie does, capturing her words and tucking them into the space between her ribs for safe-keeping. “Now sleep,  _ girlfriend _ . We’ll talk about this in the morning, right?”

“Sounds like a plan, girlfriend,” Josie muffles laughter into her chocolate locks, curling a touch closer, feeling a touch lighter. With a release of anxieties comes fatigue, however, and now she’s relieved, she settles easily. “Goodnight, Yaz.”

“Goodnight, Josie.” Her words are coupled with a butterfly kiss to the underside of her jaw. The slowing beat of Josie’s heart becomes the background lullaby for her dreams, filled to the brim with easy mornings joking over breakfast and days out with wellington-boot clad feet stomping through puddles amidst innocent laughter. Whenever she stirs in the night, Josie’s simple presence is enough to set her at ease and invite slumber back. God, she’s in love. 


	11. your tenderness is paradise (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a hIGHLY SMUTTY CHAPTER so if yall wanna skip this you're welcome to!!! you're not gonna miss out on anything plot-wise if so <333
> 
> thank u to @anonymouswolf for betaing this chapter and for presenting me with such a hilarious prompt!!!!

Splashes of early morning sunlight splinter and fracture over ruffled yellow sheets and sleep-doused features, illuminating and bathing them in strokes of warmth. Fingertips twitch, venturing beneath sheets to intertwine with their counterparts. 

When Josie blinks her eyes open to find a warm, solid body tucked against her side, she’s momentarily stunned, recalling the fact that for three years, her bed has remained half-empty. She takes her time admiring the subtle jut of Yaz’s chin and the slope of her nose, the symmetry of her face a welcome challenge to a practised artist. It makes her fingers twitch against Yaz’s own and pull a yawn from the dark-haired woman. 

Like a feline, Yaz stretches against her side, arching her back before she moves onto her arms. It’s only then she realises the loose pressure on her hand is, in fact, the presence of another, long fingers curled around her own. She offers up a sleepy smile, eyes refusing to open for longer than a second each time. Lines mark the side of her face from where it was previously nestled into her pillow. 

Josie thinks, when she reaches out to ghost her fingertips along her cheek and receive a hum in return, she’s never been so smitten. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

Yaz leans into her touch, shifting and moulding closer to bump their noses clumsily. Her eyes flutter closed again, an arm lazily slipping over Josie’s hips, drawing their bodies closer for more cuddling opportunities. “Morning.”

When Yaz breathes a soft exhale through her nose onto the bare skin Josie’s t-shirt has exposed, the blonde quells a shiver. She really ought to be more worried about how sensitive she turns whenever Yaz is around — she’s burning up under her warm breaths alone. 

Idly, Josie leans in, ducking her head to press a gentle kiss to the underside of Yaz’s chin, then the strong curve of her jaw. When Yaz tips her head back a touch, revealing more for her to explore, she props herself up on her elbow and wets her lips, leaning in to dot tender kisses along her jaw to her chin, then up to the corner of her lips. 

“Mm — just kiss me already,” Yaz whispers, voice husky with sleep. She reaches out, curling her fingers around her chin and drawing Josie into a kiss which extracts all the oxygen from her body in one, breathy sigh. 

The older woman cups her cheek as their lips move in a slow waltz, her tongue dancing along her bottom lip in a silent request to wander further. As soon as she’s given permission, she exhales against her in a quiet huff. 

Yaz melts beneath Josie’s form, reaching up to slip her fingers through short blonde locks. The action entices a soft hum, and slowly, Yaz is learning that Josie is vocal in her appreciation of certain touches. It’s both helpful and motivating — Yaz wouldn’t mind hearing the sounds she’d only previously heard off of her phone. While the memories replay in her mind, a soft noise climbs up from the back of her throat. 

The sound sends a direct line of heat towards her gut when Josie realises where Yaz’s mind has drifted, and she nips her bottom lip playfully. “I’m right here, babe. There’s no need to imagine it anymore.”

Yaz pulls back if only to pant lightly against her lips, their foreheads pressed together, noses nudging. “Sorry — you can’t blame me. That was a pretty good night.”

Josie swallows thickly, pupils darkening as her mind takes her back. She traces her girlfriend’s now slightly swollen lips with the pad of her fingertip. “I still can’t believe I can do this now. I can just — I can kiss you, right here, right now.”

Yaz watches Josie’s features as they blossom with the affection she’d been holding back, giggling into the space between them, giddy and flustered and suddenly shy. “Can we do it again? The — uh, the kissing thing? I’d really like to.”

Josie doesn’t have to be asked twice, leaning in to capture her lips once more. She’s a little firmer this time, a little more confident, and it shows. Her tongue slips easily past her lips, teeth grazing her bottom lip before capturing it between them and giving a faint tug, testing the waters. The hum she receives is enough invitation to further her actions, giving her plush bottom lip a gentle suck for extra measure. 

This time, when both women pull back, they’re scatter-brained and dizzy. “Was that okay?” Josie murmurs breathlessly, thumb smoothing over her jaw. 

“More than okay,” Yaz confirms, lashes fluttering, heart racing. She flits her tongue over her bottom lip, where her counterpart’s had just been. “Lie back, babe. I want to try something.”

Josie swallows in anticipation, nodding swiftly as she slumps onto her back beside her. Yaz rolls onto her side, bracing her right elbow beside Josie’s shoulder as she ducks her head. 

“It’s about time I kiss you here,” Yaz remarks, gaze dropping to her neck pointedly. She notices Josie give the faintest of shivers before she nods, quick and encouraging, and that’s all it takes for warm lips to press against the elegant slope of her neck. 

Her skin sears with each slow caress of her lips and Josie finds herself curling a hand into Yaz’s hair, tipping her head back when teeth ever so lightly graze her pulse. “Yaz,” she sighs, arching with the sudden need to be as close to her as possible. 

When she can’t take any more for fear of internal combustion, Josie shifts, manoeuvring Yaz onto her back again with a gentle push. “Tell me if this is too much, I just — god, you make me so —” Josie stammers, hooking a slim leg over her hip to straddle her waist. 

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence, verbalising the exact thoughts running through Yaz’s mind. The dark-haired woman meets her gaze, breathless, taking in the flush to her cheeks, the red mark dusting her pulse point and the desire brewing in the depths of her pupils. Her stomach muscles jump when Josie’s fingertips edge underneath her top, dancing over her toned flesh. “It’s perfect. You can — uh, — touch — if you want to,” she whispers, motioning towards the material Josie currently has her hand tucked under. She watches Josie swallow nervously, throat bobbing with the action, before she peels it up and off with minimal complication. 

“ _Yaz,_ ” Josie all but gasps once she realises that Yaz had forgone a bra, it seems, catching Josie off-guard and leaving a soft, whimpered moan to fall into the space between them. Her gaze settles on the smooth swells before her, pointed, hungry, and Yaz doesn’t think she’s felt so wanted in all her life. 

Reaching up to cup the back of her neck and drag her down for a kiss, Yaz forces her tongue straight into her mouth and explores with renewed vigour. She gasps into their kiss when Josie’s fingertips find a soft bud, circling the sensitive flesh until it begins to rise and stiffen beneath her fingers, a way for the older woman to seemingly gain back her control. 

Josie blindly maps her out beneath the pads of her fingers, learning quickly which touches coax the most vocal of responses. When she pinches, lightly and curiously, Yaz’s hips jump against her own and elicit a soft moan from both women. “You like that, huh?” Her words are purred, but there’s a hint of something else in her voice — nerves, perhaps? 

“Please, do that again,” Yaz pleads against her lips, reaching out to fist her fingers into the material of Josie’s leggings, thumb braced against her inner thigh. Her other hand settles against her waist, encouraging a small shuck of her hips. 

There’s a tremble to Josie’s fingertips when she shifts her hand to pay the same treatment to her other breast, leaving Yaz a gasping mess against her lips. She pulls back to allow her some much-needed oxygen, propped up on her elbow while her other hand is occupied. 

Yaz notices the subtle shift, meeting Josie’s gaze in silent concern. “Josie — Josie, you’re shaking.” She slips a hand from the space between them and cups her cheek, imploring her to free her mind of any anxieties. “Is this too much?”

“God — god, no, Yaz. I’ve never wanted you so bad, it’s just —” she sighs, leaning into her touch, turning to kiss each of Yaz’s fingertips in turn. “I haven’t — this is the first time I've —” She motions vaguely to the hand on her chest and the way her hips have settled over Yaz’s own burning core. “ — this is the first time I’ve done anything since — since her,” she admits, embarrassment singing the tips of her ears and the slope of her neck. “So I’m scared I’m going to — I don’t know — I might be a bit rusty? And _god,_ you deserve only the best, Yaz. I want to give you everything. I want to worship you. And now I’m talking and probably ruining it — uh — so if you could just kiss me or something, that would be great.”

Yaz is secretly glad she doesn’t mention her name because the insinuation is enough to stir a rare flare of jealousy from the confines of her chest. When she takes in Josie’s facial expression, though, she softens entirely, brushing her thumb just under her eye before she draws her in for a passionate, wanton kiss. In the process, Josie moves to settle a thigh between her own, straddling the other. Yaz pulls back with only warmth in her pupils, desire underlying but ever-present. “You’re doing pretty exceptional so far, I’d say, Josie, please don’t doubt yourself, okay? We can stop, if it’s getting too much?” 

She sighs dazedly, fingertips walking along the underside of Yaz’s breast, enticing a sigh. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She leans in, dotting a series of open-mouthed kisses down her neck at the same time as her knee nudges forward, pressing lightly between Yaz’s thighs. Yaz can feel her smirk against her neck when she takes a shaky inhale, so she reaches up to card her fingers into her hair, giving a faint tug. 

“If you’re sure?” Yaz murmurs, breathless, arching her chest into teasing hands. 

“More than sure,” Josie whispers into sensitive skin, then sets to work painting the junction of her neck and shoulder a deep crimson colour. 

While her girlfriend is occupied, Yaz makes some explorations of her own, slipping her free hand beneath the material of her t-shirt, fingertips ghosting over sensitive lines and ridges in weathered skin. In contrast to her own toned abdomen, Josie is all soft curves and the hint of a small tummy. Yaz sighs at the feel of her under her fingertips, oblivious to the way Josie has frozen against her until she blinks heavy-lidded eyes open and glances down into green eyes. 

There’s a deer-in-headlights look gracing her features and she swallows, looking shy again. “Baby weight isn’t as easy to get rid of as I thought, sorry,” she giggles, but the sound is a little too self-deprecating for Yaz’s liking. 

She sits up suddenly, leaving Josie’s hands to drop to her lap and her face to contort into something a little more bashful. “Josie, you’re gorgeous.” She leans in, trailing a series of soft kisses down her neck to her collarbones. After she’s lathered them in attention, she meets her gaze, the fingertips of one hand dancing over the sensitive lines hugging her abdomen while her free hand lifts to palm at her chest through her top. “Please believe me.”

Josie is putty in her hands. Yaz’s tentative caresses and touches send heat straight to her aching core. She’s always been sensitive where stretchmarks line and pucker her skin, her brain losing all control while the sensations build. She drops her forehead to rest against Yaz’s, keening, hips jumping beneath her touch. When Yaz brushes her thumb over her nipple through the thin material, she squirms. 

“Can I — Josie? Can I take it off?” Yaz murmurs softly, leaning in to brush a tender kiss against the corner of her mouth, patient, kind. 

“Uh —” Josie falters, pulling back a centimetre or so. “Is it alright if I leave it on, just for now? You can still touch — I just — I don’t — I’m —.” How can she be expected to string a sentence together when she’s this wound up?

When she struggles for words, Yaz smiles tenderly, greeting her cheek with a kiss. “I understand, that’s okay. Thank you for letting me know.” Another kiss melts against her jaw, this time hot enough to burn straight through to the prominent bone beneath. 

Regaining the use of her brain and, resultantly, her hands, Josie presses Yaz back down into the sheets and ducks her head to press her lips to the underside of her breast, where her hands coaxed a gasp from her earlier. She swipes her tongue along her dark skin, tasting, teasing. As soon as she feels Yaz’s fingers tangle back into her hair, she takes a dusky nipple between swollen lips and swipes her tongue over the hardening bud. 

The whimpered moan she receives in return makes her hips roll against a toned thigh, her thin pyjama bottoms barely hiding her arousal. 

By the time Josie has lathered her full attention on Yaz’s breasts, the younger woman is writing with need, hips jumping and squirming beneath her own. Yaz reaches out, dragging Josie’s hand to the waistband of her plaid bottoms and meeting her gaze with a pleading nod. “I think I might _actually_ pass out if you don’t touch me right now.” 

Josie swallows, quelling her nerves in a firm kiss to Yaz’s shoulderblade when _finally,_ she slips her hand past Yaz’s bottoms and into incredibly slick heat. “ _Yaz,_ fuck,” she moans, dropping her head against her shoulder while her fingers dance and explore. The second she brushes against her clit, Yaz cries out, head tipping back against her pillow. It highlights a sheen of sweat above her brow, and the sight alone is enough to make Josie twitch against her thigh. “You’re so ready for me.”

“Bold — _ah —_ bold of you to presume I haven’t been thinking about this since that call,” Yaz purrs back, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth when Josie starts circling her clit with her thumb, tiny sparks of electricity swirling and stimulating her senses in the best way possible. Her hips shift to follow her movements, nails dragging down Josie’s clothed back. 

Josie presses her thumb against her clit while artists fingers explore further, ghosting over her core. She lifts her head to press a smouldering kiss to the mark on her pulse, sighing against her at the welcome warmth which greets her digits. “Please, Yaz, I want to feel you. I want to be inside you.”

She earns a swift, wordless nod in response, and by the time she’s a digit deep, Yaz is almost wound up enough to come apart there and then. She clenches around the intrusion, encouraging Josie to begin thrusting steadily against her. She uses her thigh to speed up her efforts, grinding against her as arousal burns away at her core. 

“Josie — I — I’m not going to last long,” Yaz breathes, high-pitched and needy. She rolls her hips in tandem with Josie’s, fisting her hand into her t-shirt while her other arm is cast over her forehead like an ancient painting. A brief thought crosses Josie’s mind, but she’ll have to leave that until later. 

“I’ve got you, Yaz,” Josie purrs, leaning in to take a dusky nipple between her teeth and suck, at the same time adding another digit to the first and thrusting until her wrist aches with the effort. “I’ve got you.”

She sucks and laps at her chest until crimson paints the underside of each breast, claiming the skin there as her own. “You’re mine,” she practically growls, her words reverent and territorial. Who can blame her when there’s a beautiful woman writhing beneath her?

One more digit and three minutes later, Yaz comes with a muffled cry of Josie’s name, jaw hanging and head tipping back, eyes squeezed shut while she pulses and clenches tight around Josie’s fingers. She rides her through it, murmuring gentle words of encouragement against her chest. 

Yaz blinks her eyes open a minute later to find Josie curled up to her side, licking her fingers clean, a picture of faux-innocence. Once she’s finished and Yaz is almost riled up once more, she reaches up to touch a hand to her cheek, drawing her into a leisurely kiss. Her hips are still twitching, the fire still burning between her legs forcing her to hold back a whimper. “Was that okay?”

“ _Okay?_ Are you kidding me? That was — that was incredible, Josie. I don’t know why you were so nervous, honestly,” Yaz swoons, ducking her head to press a kiss to her exposed collarbone. She feels the way Josie visibly relaxes at the knowledge. ”Now I think it might be my turn.” 

Before Josie can argue, Yaz shifts, lifting the sheets so she can duck beneath and settle between Josie’s legs. She glances up as if asking permission, curling her hands around the waistband of Josie’s leggings and underwear at the same time. Her breath ghosts over the slither of skin between her top and leggings, sending Josie’s brain into a billion different directions all at once. She’s already reeling. “Please?”

She can only respond with a dizzy nod, braced against the mattress. She lifts her hips when Yaz begins peeling the garments away, baring herself in all her glistening glory. She hears Yaz stifle a moan and it makes her hips twitch involuntarily. 

“Easy, babe,” Yaz whispers, shooting her a smirk before she finally, _finally_ laps a line through the length of her, humming in delight at the sweet taste which assaults her tongue. She gives a few testing licks at her clit before delving in, lips closing around the swollen flesh to suck firmly. 

Josie has to bite down on her forearm to keep from crying out, using her free hand to curl into Yaz’s hair. She anchors her there, trembling and quivering beneath each lap and swirl of her tongue. 

She’s hurtling towards the edge, lost in her own newfound heaven when there’s suddenly an onslaught of footsteps and her daughter bursts into the room, pyjama-clad and grinning. Yaz has enough time to flatten out against the mattress between Josie’s legs while Josie quickly settles her extra blanket over the Yaz-shaped lump. 

“Mummy? Can I have some breakfast?” Wren quips, oblivious, solely the prospect of food on her mind. She toys with her sleeve in the same way she finds herself doing more and more lately. 

“Uh — sure, honey, there’s plenty there,” Josie responds, voice wavering when Yaz ventures a teasing lick against her clit. She jumps slightly, biting back a whimper. “If you can’t find anything — just — just have some chocolate, okay? This — uh — this — _Yaz — is,_ I mean _is_ the only time I'm allowing it.”

“Mummy, you’re the _best!”_ Wren beams, jogging over to offer up her mother a hug. Halfway there, though, Josie gasps. 

“Wait — no! I have awful morning breath, love, you better not. You know what? I reckon you should grab that chocolate before I change my mind and eat it myself!” she teases, though her cheeks are bright red and her breaths are coming out uneven. She’s a deer-in-headlights, well and truly. 

Thankfully, Wren is absolutely unaware, skipping from the room with a mischievous giggle not a second later. She closes the door behind her with a click before hopping down the steps, one by one. 

Casting the blanket aside and flopping back against her pillows, Josie _groans_. She can hear and feel Yaz’s laughter against her thigh. “That was the single most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me,” the blonde sighs, burying her head in her palms. 

Yaz snorts, pressing a delicate kiss to the inside of her knee. “Babe, chill. I thought you handled that really well, considering I had my tongue inside you.” 

The filthy nature to her words has Josie laughing despite herself, and she curls her fingers under Yaz’s chin with a smirk, running her thumb along her glistening bottom lip. When Yaz takes the offending digit between her lips and swirls her tongue around its length, the heat in Josie’s core returns tenfold and she groans for a different reason altogether. “If you don’t get me off in the next two minutes, I'm going to have to rethink my request to be girlfriends.”

“Charming,” Yaz mumbles against her skin, but she gets back to work nonetheless, tongue probing past her entrance while her thumb presses firmly against her clit. 

“Two minutes was a bit of an exaggeration anyway,” Josie gasps thirty seconds later, knuckles white with her grip on the sheets. She’s teetering on the edge, toes curling, thighs closing in on Yaz’s ears until her earrings dig almost uncomfortably against her skin. “Yaz, — Yaz, Yaz, I’m going to —” 

“Come for me, Josie,” Yaz purrs against her, thumb brushing her clit in tight little circles while her tongue thrusts and curls inside her, dragging across her walls in just the right way to make Josie see stars. 

She cries out against the now indented skin of her forearm when she crests, hips squirming and kicking in the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced. Yaz licks and laps and swirls her tongue against her to help her ride it out, watching her features relax and ease, her eyes closed in sheer bliss.

Once Josie has relaxed back against the mattress again, Yaz crawls up to settle at her side with a contented hum, licking her lips. “Forty seconds, babe.”

Josie turns to regard her with a huff, giving her shoulder a playful shove. “Shut up, my brain isn’t quite working right now and I can’t think of a snarky response.” So, instead, she turns to press a delicate kiss to her lips, tasting herself on them. 

“We should probably make sure Wren hasn’t eaten too much chocolate, shouldn’t we?” Yaz murmurs a minute later, head on Josie’s chest — she’s still drifting in and out of post-orgasmic bliss, bless her. 

“Mm, we really should. Two more minutes?” Josie quips, carding her fingers idly through Yaz’s dishevelled hair. 

Five minutes later, freshly-dressed, both women jog down the stairs. After another intense kissing session, the only option to tame Yaz’s curls was to tie them up in a bun. She’s sporting Josie’s university hoodie and a pair of borrowed leggings when she enters the kitchen, finding a guilty-looking Wren feasting on a custard cream. 

“That either means you’ve eaten all the chocolate and moved onto the biscuits, or you finally agree with me that custard creams are the ultimate snack food,” Josie states, in a pair of jeans accompanying a plaid shirt. She sidles up to her daughter to ruffle her hair, then heads straight for the kettle, fixing herself a coffee. 

“Custard creams are better than chocolate,” Wren answers, biting into another biscuit. There are crumbs all over her lap but a grin on her face, especially when she spots Yaz. “Yaz stayed for a sleepover? Can you stay for the day, Yaz?” 

“‘Course I can, sweetheart,” Yaz grins, settling at the dining table opposite the youngster. When Josie heads over with a mug of coffee for them both and a glass of orange juice for her daughter, she hums her approval. “Thanks, babe.”

“Yaz is going to stay for the day, Mummy!” Wren cries as though the blonde hadn’t already known. She delves into the biscuit tin at her side and plucks out a bourbon. “Do you want a biscuit, Yaz?”

Yaz shakes her head with a smile, gently letting the little girl down. “No, that’s okay, sweetheart. Thank you, but I’ve already eaten this morning.”

To her right, Josie chokes on her coffee. She seems to be making a habit of that. 


	12. some twisted sense of loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the penultimate chapter!!!! if anyone has anything they really wanna have this lil gay family do for the last chapter let me know!!!!
> 
> hmmmmmMMOKAY so this chapter was meant to be really angsty but apparently, i can't write that so enjoy 99.99% fluff and a tiny smattering of angst 
> 
> also huge thank u to @prettyyoungking for all the help omfg ur a saint
> 
> tw: injuries?????

“Did we forget the eggs? I think we forgot the eggs,” Josie concludes, poking at a charred, solidified slab of chocolate brownies with the end of a fork. Wren pulls a face from her perch on the countertop, her legs swinging. Fetching a knife, Josie attempts to cut a slice from their poor attempt at baking. The baked good (bad?) does not budge, simply morphing the metal instrument into a slightly more contorted version of its previous self. 

“These ones?” Wren quips, picking up the carton at her side and presenting three perfectly untouched eggs. 

Josie scrunches her nose. “You had those the whole time?”

Wren shrugs, “I wanted to draw on them,” she replies, matter-of-factly. 

“I can smell burning. Josie, are you baking again?” Yaz calls from the front door she’d just entered through, lugging a large shopping bag under her arm. It’s a school night and Yaz had agreed to cook for the small family she’s slowly coming to consider as her own. She pads through to the kitchen and muffles a snort of laughter against her free hand at the sight. “That’s a yes, then.”

“Yaz!” Wren kicks her legs in her excitement, reaching out her arms and beaming in delight. Yaz settles her bag at her feet and rounds to the youngster on the countertop, swooping her into a squeezing hug. 

“Hello, you. I swear I only saw you a couple of hours ago,” she chuckles when Wren refuses to let go anyway, clinging to her like a baby monkey. She has no choice but to lift her into her arms, balancing her on her hip so she can brush a kiss against Josie’s flour-dusted cheek. “What happened to the … brownies?” 

“I was sabotaged by a four year old,” Josie huffs playfully, leaning into the pressure of soft lips against her skin. “We forgot the eggs.”

“No, _mummy_ forgot the eggs,” Wren corrects her, turning to smirk in Josie’s direction. The older woman gawps, lips parting in faux-shock. 

“Okay, change of plan. Yaz, are you up for a rainbow fight in the garden?” Josie turns, hands on her hips, her features set in surprising determination for someone who’d just used the words ‘rainbow fight’ in an actual question. 

“Uh — depends what it entails?” Yaz tilts her head, brows pinching when Wren slips from her grasp to skip towards a small box by the back door. She picks up a water pistol, filled with a mixture of water and paint. 

“It’s like a water fight, but we use paint as well. We usually paint things outside with them, but mummy gets a bit carried away sometimes and starts a paint fight. I came up with the name,” Wren states proudly, lifting the pistol into Josie’s eye-line — she raises her brows, and Wren lowers it.

“You might want to change out of those clothes. You can borrow some of mine,” Josie remarks, wetting her lips in a subconscious movement. When Yaz disappears upstairs, she has to hold her thoughts back from drifting to images of her girlfriend undressing mere metres above her head.

Wren reaches up to tug her sleeve, then glances pointedly to the box of water pistols. “Can we set it up now?”

Three canvases perched against the furthest wall and three pairs of weathered clothes later, the battle is afoot. 

Josie, of course, is the first victim, yelping dramatically as the back of her t-shirt is littered with purple paint. “Wren!” she cries, turning to take aim. When her daughter laughs heartily and points to a smirking, but guilty-looking Yaz, she gasps. “Really? I should’ve known you’d take her side. You want to play dirty? I can play dirty.”

Yaz laughs when Josie levels her water pistol with her form, backing up towards Wren’s playhouse and shaking her head. “You wouldn’t.” 

Her words are retracted a second later when bright yellow paint coats one side of her face and sinks into her natural curls. She twists her lips into a challenging smirk, glancing back to catch sight of the youngster hiding beneath the trampoline. “Wren, sweetheart, —let’s get her.”

They’re a mess of colour half an hour later, and, with a flurry of laughter, Josie reveals their exceptionally clean canvases. “Guess we missed, huh?” 

While Wren jogs inside to change, Yaz stacks the canvases up to set aside, then cards her fingers through paint-bound hair. She pauses when she feels an arm lazily loop around her waist, drawing her towards Josie’s familiar form. They mould together like brushstrokes on bound cotton. There’s a sprinkling of blue paint dotted across Josie’s cheeks and nose like freckles, highlighting the ocean-coloured specks in her eyes. 

“You’re covered in paint, babe,” Josie murmurs, taking in the splashes of yellow and green against dark skin. 

“So are you,” Yaz replies, tipping up Josie’s chin, inching closer. 

“You know what’s also covered in paint?” Josie quips, lips centimetres from her own. She slips her hands from Yaz’s waist to her backside and smirks when Yaz squeaks in surprise. “My hands.”

“You absolute —” Her words are cut off by the press of soft lips against her own. She can feel Josie smiling into their kiss, encouraging a mirroring grin in return. She melts against her, humming in surprised delight when Josie moves to deepen the kiss. 

Wren’s playhouse digs into Yaz’s back when Josie slowly presses her against it, a hand wedged against her backside while the other settles at her hip. They’re so lost in each other that they don’t notice the four year old leant in her open bedroom window, water pistol in-hand. 

Josie squeals against Yaz’s lips as she’s drenched in cold water, breaking away to follow the source to Wren’s giggling form. “Oi!”

“You were attacking Yaz again!” Wren beams, pulling her pistol back and disappearing from view. 

Yaz laughs into her palm, although the sound wavers off into the space between them when she notices Josie’s slightly crestfallen expression. Her hands are linked in front of her, where they fiddle and entangle as if mismatched. It’s as though the jumble of thoughts on her mind are presenting themselves through fidgeting fingers. 

“Babe? You okay?” Yaz steps into her space again, reaching for her hands to help ease the tension there. She circles her left palm with her thumb, over the surface of now dried paint. It’s a technique which seems to work because Josie flits back to the present in an instant, raising a brow at the soothing touches as though surprised at their effect.

“I’m fine, it’s just —” Josie bites back a frown, ducking her head. She hates the vulnerability that comes with letting someone in, letting them see parts of her kept hidden by years of purposeful introversion. “Alone time — time for just _us_ — it doesn’t come very easily, does it? I suppose — I feel a bit guilty, that’s all.” 

“ _Josie,”_ Yaz sighs softly, empathetically, reaching out to draw her into a hug. “I knew what I was doing when I agreed to be your girlfriend, and yeah, thinking about the fact that there's a child in the mix is still a little scary, but the time we do spend together? On our own? Totally worth it. Plus, Wren’s an absolute superstar. There’s no need to worry at all." When Josie sinks into her embrace, her shoulders relaxing, Yaz presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You’re — like, the best person I’ve ever met, Josie. Both of you are.” 

By the time Josie pulls back enough to meet her gaze, there’s a glossy sheen to her pupils and a fond smile on her lips. “Right back at you, babe. Now stop being so soppy and go and shower all this paint off.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Yaz beams, leaning in to peck her lips before she pulls back entirely. 

As she makes her way into the house and through the kitchen, Wren glances up from the colouring book she’d occupied herself with and snorts with laughter. “Yaz? Did you sit in some paint?” 

Connecting the dots, Yaz glances back enough to spot distinct handprints hugging her backside in yellow paint. When Josie pads in behind her, she hides her own laughter behind her palm. Yaz glares. “Apparently I did, yeah.” 

Once she’s disappeared upstairs to shower, Josie flicks the kettle on and readies two mugs of tea and a hot chocolate, then gets to work scrubbing paint from her hands and face. 

“Mummy?” Wren chimes from her place at the table, half-way through colouring a tortoise bright blue. 

“Yes, honey?” Josie turns, leaning against the counter. The kettle whistles behind her. 

“What do you call it when two people like each other a lot and always make each other laugh?” the youngster asks, then scrunches her nose in distaste. “-- and when they kiss lots?” 

“I’d call that love, sweetie,” Josie counters, tilting her head curiously. She turns slightly to fill up their mugs, adding three extra sugars to her own while Yaz isn’t around to comment on her risk of cavities. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I think I know someone who’s in love,” Wren states idly, returning to her drawing with a conspiratorial grin. 

Josie misses the comment entirely when Yaz pads back down the stairs, natural curls framing features which are pinkened from the heat of the shower. She’s changed into a pair of jeans and one of Josie’s deep mustard hoodies, and the knowledge makes her chest warm with — possessiveness? She likes the look of Yaz in her clothes, as though laying claim to a famous piece of art which no one else can appreciate in the same way. 

Wren can only smirk at her mother’s distracted nature. 

Cups of tea exchanged and a mug of hot chocolate settled in front of Wren, Yaz begins pulling the ingredients she’d bought together to prepare dinner. “Ready for the Khan family pakora?”

With only minimal hesitation, Yaz allows a naturally curious Josie to help, but she keeps an eye out for any accidental fires or misplaced ingredients. 

“Babe, you might want to ease off on the chilli powder,” Yaz quips when Josie’s impulse control withers and she adds a touch more than necessary to the mix. 

“You think I can’t handle a little spice?” Josie counters in dismissal. 

She’s quick to retract her words when, twenty minutes later, she winces into her first bite. She fans her mouth while the other two remain unaffected. 

“Too spicy, Josie?” Yaz quips, smug and satisfied. 

“Not at all,” Josie counters, turning to glare at her daughter when she snorts in amusement. 

“Can you pass the sauce, please, Yaz?” Wren adds, mouth half-full. “I don’t think mine’s hot enough.” She beams when Josie turns to her, wide-eyed and bewildered at the contrast in taste buds. “You want some, mummy?” 

“I think I'm okay for now, love,” Josie murmurs sheepishly, taking a swig of water to cool the simmering heat lapping at her tongue. 

“Okay, I might have gone a little overboard with the chilli powder,” Josie admits twenty minutes later. She’s washing up while Yaz dries and Wren sets their kitchenware back into their rightful places. On a few occasions, Yaz lifts her up to reach into cupboards out of her height range. They work together like a well-oiled machine, any previous hesitation over allowing Yaz into their own little bubble dissipating with every teasing remark and soft smile. 

Yaz can only laugh at the pout on her girlfriend’s face, reaching out to touch a hand to her shoulder. “Thought so, babe.” 

Handing the last plate over, Josie leans against the countertop with a bashful smile. “ _However_ , it was a delicious meal, so thank you. Wren, what do we say to Yaz for cooking this evening?” 

“Thank you, Yaz,” Wren beams, raising her arms when she can’t reach into the cupboard. Yaz scoops her up, letting the youngster set the plate atop the rest. Before she puts her back down, however, she earns a squeezing hug. “Can we have it again sometime? It was yummy.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Yaz confirms with a kiss to Wren’s forehead. “Now, didn’t you want to show your mum something we did in class today?”

Green eyes alight with excitement, Wren jogs over to her school bag as soon as she’s set down, rooting through it for her exercise book. She skips back through to the kitchen and climbs into a chair at the table, waving for her mother to join. “Look what Yaz helped me to write today!”

Bemused, Josie pads over, setting a hand on Wren’s shoulder as she takes in the details on the page. Her daughter’s full name is written in scrawling, shaky script, nevertheless as clear as day. 

“Rowan,” the four year old starts, following each letter as she reads aloud. “ — Mae,” she adds, much to the teary surprise of her mother. “ — Smith.”

“ _Wren,_ ” Josie sighs softly, proudly, curling her arms around her daughter’s shoulders and pressing a flurry of kisses to her forehead and cheeks. Wren squirms in her hold, giggling and beaming under her praises. “Look at that! You can write and spell out your own name! You’ll be writing stories soon enough, I bet.”

If Josie could capture a series of key moments in Wren’s development, now would be the perfect time to set the film and start recording. Yaz rounds to their side, brushing a hand over Josie’s shoulder in silent affection. 

“You should be proud. She’s pretty much top of the class already,” Yaz divulges, crouching to Wren’s level, a hand on her page in the book. “You’re doing so well, Wren. You should be really proud of yourself.”

When Wren slips from her chair to curl an arm around each woman’s hip, both women melt into the embrace. 

Sometime later, under the cosy canopy of a blanket fort — upon Wren’s request, of course — Josie finds a hand intertwining with her own. Wren has taken a nap in amongst the sheets at Yaz’s side while _Finding Nemo_ continues to play from Josie’s laptop. 

“I don’t think she’s ever watched the whole film in one go,” Josie chuckles, knees tucked up where she leans back against the side of the sofa, her shoulder and hip pressed against Yaz’s own. 

“As soon as she wakes up she _literally_ never stops. All that energy must tire her out,” Yaz counters, reaching out to gently card her fingers through the young girl’s hair. Wren sighs gently in her light sleep, entirely content in her presence. 

“You know —” Josie starts, watching their interactions curiously. “I’ve never seen her be so accepting of others before — before you. It’s as if she knew how things were going to work out before I even did.” She reaches out, curling a hand around Yaz’s free one and dancing her fingertips over her palm in a slow rhythm. “I was worried she’d grow up with trust problems, after — _you know_ , but you seem to have turned that on its head, Yasmin Khan.” 

“I love her way too much to ever let her down, Josie,” Yaz replies candidly, the words heavy with affection. When she meets Josie’s gaze, the blonde can see the glossy sheen coating her pupils in an instant. “I’d do anything for her at this point, and that scares me a little.”

The admission melts Josie to her core, pools of bold green widening to accommodate her surprise. She lifts her hand, bringing it up to her mouth, where a kiss melts against the skin of her palm. “That’s your maternal instinct, Yaz. It’s pretty unnerving, right?” 

“Terrifying,” Yaz confirms, her eyes conveying her fear as clear as day, but she’s smiling nonetheless, seemingly giving in to the lure of her new responsibility, her new duty of care. “Do you — do you reckon I’m doing okay? With her?”

“I reckon you’re doing absolutely magnificently, Yaz.” Josie smiles, the motion easy as always with the woman at her side. “And I’m here to help you along, so if you’re ever worried, even if you think it’s unimportant, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” she assuages gently, her expression set in determined support. “She might just love you too, by the way. I think we both —” 

She’s interrupted by the chime of her phone, which buzzes to life on the coffee table just outside their den. When she picks it up, an unknown number flashes across the screen. Yaz offers up a quizzical look. 

“Uh — hello?”

“Is this Josie Smith?” 

“Speaking, yes.”

“Nurse Rory Williams, here, calling from Sheffield General Hospital. We have you down as an emergency contact for Miss Callie Silver? I’m afraid there’s been an incident.” 

Her stomach drops and her expression shifts before Yaz’s eyes, transitioning into concern and… anger? 

“What kind of incident? Is she alright?” Despite the distinct lack of empathy she holds for the other woman, Josie can’t help but be a little worried. They were happily married for a short time, after all. 

“She was involved in a collision with another vehicle. She’s sustained only minor injuries, but we’re keeping her in for observation. I’ll have to inform you of the rest once you’re here, Miss Smith.” 

“Okay, I — I’ll be there soon. Thank you,” she curls her sleeve over her hand and toys with the threads there, picking at them in the same way these encounters chip at her resolve. 

When the nurse hangs up, Josie slumps against the couch beside their den with furrowed brows and a grimly-set frown. She hunches over to bury her head in her hands, debating every moral she’s ever set for herself. “ _Christ.”_

Yaz is quick to slip from the confines of comfort they’d built, crouching before her girlfriend and peeling her hands back from her face. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“It’s Callie,” Josie murmurs in distaste. The name itself feels foul on her tongue. Yaz breathes a sigh, bracing herself. She rubs a hand over Josie’s shoulder when she shudders. “She’s been in an accident. She still had me down as her emergency contact.” She pauses, arguing with the voice in her head. “I should go and see her.”

“Is there anyone else who can go? Like — a family member or something?” Yaz queries, determined to keep as far away as possible from the source of their troubles. 

“I was the only family she really had. They didn’t … approve of her lifestyle,” she terms loosely. Yaz reaches out to untangle her fingers from her sleeve before she plucks the whole thing apart, instead intertwining their hands. 

“Well, if you’re going, I’m coming with you,” Yaz asserts firmly, meeting her gaze when Josie glances at her in surprise. “I’m with you, whatever happens.”

“I don’t think I want Wren to see her,” Josie muses aloud, protective, watchful. 

“I can keep her occupied, I promise. But I’m not letting you go alone.” _I don’t trust her,_ she adds in her head, but by the look in Josie’s eyes, she can tell they’re on the same wavelength. “Let’s get this over and done with, babe.”

Crouching at the entrance to their fort, Josie tentatively reaches out to brush the back of her hand against Wren’s cheek, dread surging like electricity through her veins. “Hey, sweetie, time to wake up. We’ve got to head out for a bit.”

The four year old mumbles in her sleepy state, eventually peeling herself from the blankets and shuffling into her mother’s arms. “Could you grab her coat for me, Yaz?”

Happy to help, Yaz slips into the hallway to fetch the garment, as well as Josie’s. When she returns, Wren is a little more awake. “Where are we going, mummy? It’s dark outside.”

“Callie’s been hurt, sweetie, but we won’t be long, I promise,” Josie replies, tense and apologetic. “I’ve just got to talk to her.”

“But she makes you sad,” Wren mumbles against her shoulder, where she settles once her coat is curled around her form. Yaz almost has to agree, but she trusts Josie to make the right decision. She keeps quiet for now. 

“Which is why I have to do this, love. After today —” she starts, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “ — we’re not going to see her again.” 

Wren blinks up at her in question, taking in the nervous energy she radiates. “Can’t I just tell her to go away again? You’re all shaky, mummy.” She brushes her fingers over her hands, biting back a frown. 

Josie breathes a chuckle, but it’s a little empty. “Leave it to me, honey. You’ve already done more than your fair share. It’s about time I stepped up.”

“Josie, she’s _our_ problem, now, not just yours. Let us help. Let _me_ help.” Yaz interrupts, using the authoritative voice she usually saves for teaching. She eyes Josie as if approaching a scared animal, coaxing her to see sense. 

“You mean too much to me for that. Both of you. Do you think I'm going to let her talk to you like she has before _again_? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Josie suddenly snaps, nerves and fear blurring her words. “It’s not happening, Yaz.”

She’s taken aback, folding her arms when Josie stalks from the room with her daughter in her arms. Wren sends her a guilty look over her shoulder, then a sour one to her mother, but otherwise keeps quiet. Another word might just set off the moisture building in the corner of Josie’s eyes. 

The drive to the hospital is tense, the brush of fingers against Yaz’s thigh when Josie changes gear an unwelcome sensation for the first time. She shifts closer to the door to keep it from occurring again. 

By the time they pull up outside the imposing building, Josie’s anxieties are sky-high. Shakily, she twists her keys and turns the ignition off. 

“Mummy,” Wren starts, her tone as chiding as a four year old can be. Josie turns, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. “Say sorry to Yaz.”

Her lips part in surprise, but, like a scolded puppy, she turns to her girlfriend. Yaz toys with the decorative ring hugging her middle finger, refusing to meet her gaze. They’re like children in a school playground unwilling to make amends over the smallest of issues. “I’m sorry, Yaz. I’m just — I’m just _tired_ of her always intruding on my happiness. Our happiness. This is the last straw.”

Yaz sighs through her nose, reaching out to settle the hand nervously tapping against the steering wheel. “It’s okay, I understand, just don’t block me out. I want to help.”

“You can’t — just — okay. Fine,” Josie gives in under Yaz’s authoritative gaze, slumping back into her seat in defeat. “But let me take the lead.”

“I can work with that,” Yaz agrees, unclipping her seatbelt. “Do you have a plan?” 

“Something along the lines of ‘Callie, get yourself into rehab’,” Josie jokes, but it doesn’t have her usual flare. “Right, let’s get a shift on.”

Wren walks between both women as they head through to the accident and emergency department, hands entwined. When it gets a little busier, though, Yaz lifts her into her arms to keep her out of harm's way, balancing her on her hip while Josie leads. 

She stops in her tracks when she spots the familiar form of her ex-wife, albeit a little battered and bruised. There’s a cast from the tips of her fingers to her elbow on one hand, and stitches dotted along her prominent cheekbone. The crease between her brows conveys her discomfort, her eyes squeezed closed against a wave of sharp pain medication can only take the edge off.

“Stay here for now, okay?” Josie turns to her girlfriend and daughter, a pleading look in her eyes. “Please?”

“If she makes a move, I’m not holding myself back,” Yaz sighs, her free hand enveloping Josie’s and squeezing. 

Callie’s attention is caught by the sounds of voices nearby. Through blurry vision, she spots the small family she once called her own. 

Leaning in, Josie presses a gentle kiss to the corner of Yaz’s lips, aware of eyes on her. “Thank you.” 

While Josie heads over, Wren presses closer, watching her go with a worried twist of her lips. “She’ll be fine,” she murmurs against Yaz’s shoulder. She’s never heard her sound so unsure. 

There’s a heart-rate monitor at Callie’s side when she wanders into her room, which picks up briefly on approach. “Not looking too great, there, Cal.”

The brunette follows her like a hawk, smiling as though she’s won something — of all the people she expected to visit, this is a pleasant surprise. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

When Josie moves to stand at her side, Callie reaches out, ghosting her uninjured hand over Josie’s. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t.” Pulling her hand back, Josie breaks the thread between long-lasting memories and the reality of their present situation. “You need help, Callie,” she states bluntly, cutting right to the chase to avoid any of her luring tactics. 

“You’re not even going to ask me how I'm feeling?” she huffs in faux-seriousness, biting back a snide grin. “And I don’t need help.”

“No, I'm not — because you can’t sit there and tell me you weren’t drunk when this happened.” When she doesn’t even attempt to defend herself, Josie sighs. “God — how am I meant to know you’re not still drunk now? _That’s_ why you need help.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Callie shakes her head, wincing when it only coaxes further pain from the headache in her temple. 

“Look around you, Callie! Look where you are!” She gestures around the room, to the machines, to the fresh cast on her arm. 

“I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything.” She notices Yaz hovering in the doorway, Wren’s head tucked against her shoulder. She aches for the family no longer hers to claim, the sight of the youngster sending her heart monitor a touch higher. “And I certainly don’t need you.” Her words are cast in spite of the new addition to her ex-wife’s family, who levels their gaze through the door with a glare.

“So be it,” Josie steps back, toeing towards the door without hesitation. “I can’t say I didn’t try.”

“Wait —” Callie starts, reaching out to grasp onto Josie’s wrist. Yaz follows the movement from the doorway, but Josie quickly shrugs her off. “Where are you going? — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” she pleads, sitting up, pulling taught the wires attached to her arm. 

“I’m leaving, Callie,” Josie heads for the door, not looking back. “I have my own family to look after now,” she murmurs, aware of the small smile beginning to lace her lips when she opens the door and catches Yaz’s proud expression. She’d heard every word. “And they do need me.”

Even when they make it home, Josie is still reeling with adrenaline. Wren, for her part, has fallen asleep in the back of the car, the events of the day having taken their toll on her tiny form. 

They’re as quiet as possible when they head upstairs, working together to change and tuck the fatigued youngster into bed. Wren stirs with a grumble, reaching out to curl an arm around her soft toy and draw it closer. “Goodnight, mummy. Goodnight, Yaz.” 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Yaz murmurs, leaning in to brush a kiss against her forehead. “I love you,” she adds just loud enough for Wren to hear. 

“I love you too, Yaz,” the four year old whispers back, breaking into a wide grin. 

When Yaz leans back, she reaches up to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye, swallowing thickly, but she’s beaming. 

“Hey, what about me, kid?” Josie teases, rubbing a hand over Yaz’s shoulder in silent comfort. She’s never met someone who loves so openly. It’s a beautiful sight. 

“You’re alright, mummy,” Wren snorts, tucking her duvet up to her chin and smirking in the low light. Her eyelids are heavy, leaving her dozing off in seconds. 

“Did you hear that?” Josie smirks a minute later, padding into her bedroom in faux-exasperation. “I think I've been replaced.” 

Sniffling away the rest of her emotions, Yaz loops an arm lazily around Josie’s hips, drawing her closer. The blonde is still high on adrenaline, meeting her gaze with dilated pupils as she’s reeled in. Yaz smirks, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips despite Josie’s efforts to capture them. “It’s a good thing I love you _both_ , then, isn’t it?" 

When Yaz kisses her, a whole new sensation joins the heady mix of excitement and desire, and, breathless, Josie pulls back to beam at her. “Really? I couldn't tell.”

“You’re meant to say it back!” Yaz accuses, voice high-pitched. When Josie simply pulls her into another kiss, laughing as she walks her back towards her bed, Yaz huffs against her lips. “Say it back!”

“I love you too, Yasmin Khan,” Josie breathes, giving her a playful push into plush sheets. 

“You really had to one-up me and go for the full name?” Yaz complains, arching her brow when Josie straddles her hips, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear so she can take in the sight a little clearer. Yaz swallows under her heated gaze. 

Josie leans in, propping herself up on her elbows. “Time to put your mouth to better use, babe.”

“Charming,” Yaz chortles, but when she captures her lips, she tastes of new beginnings and a whole wave of possibilities. It’s the start of the rest of their lives, and Yaz has never felt so ready.


	13. give me love (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hate endings yall but here's the last chapter!!!! i've really enjoyed writing this and all your comments have kept me going throughout so im super super grateful for everyone who took time out to read this!!! if you have any suggestions/would like to see a one shot series featuring this little gay family in the future let me know in the comments!!! anyway, enjoy! <3333
> 
> pre-warning: this is a smutty chap again im sorry!

“Dogs or cats?” Josie quips, sat back against the arm of the chair with her fluffy-socked feet settled in Yaz’s lap. There’s a cup of tea cradled between her palms which she sips between quick-fire questions. Candles litter the coffee table, dousing their features in a warm glow, stomachs full and hearts brimming. 

This is one of a handful of date nights they’ve spent alone at Josie’s place, reverent touches and lingering glances winding them up like fireworks before a dazzling display. 

“That’s impossible,” Yaz counters, fingertips trailing up and down Josie’s calf beneath her loose, flowing trousers. “I’m boycotting that question.”

“Okay, at the cinema — sweets or popcorn?” Josie finishes off her tea and sets the mug aside, toes bobbing along to the songs drifting quietly through her record player. 

“If I’m with  _ you _ , sweets — only because you always somehow manage to get popcorn  _ everywhere,”  _ Yaz teases, simply raising her brows in a chiding nature when Josie scoffs.

“I do  _ not —  _ anyway, slow dance or whatever it is kids do in clubs these days?” Josie tilts her head, lips curling into a grin when Yaz’s infectious laughter undermines the melodies dancing around the room. 

“Slowdance,” she reveals, offering up a quizzical expression when Josie shifts, slipping from the comfort of the couch to change the song on her playlist. 

A slower song fills the room, upbeat and sweet. 

When Josie extends a hand, Yaz takes it without thinking, moving to stand before her girlfriend like a child in a school play acting alongside their biggest crush. 

“Can I have this dance, Yasmin Khan?” Josie croons theatrically, stepping back into the open space between her TV and the coffee table. She loops an arm around Yaz’s hips, settling a warm palm at her lower back.

The thin material of her blouse allows Josie’s touch to scorch the skin beneath in the best possible way. Yaz takes a small step forward, slipping both arms around Josie’s neck. “I can’t say I know what I’m doing, but I'd love to.”

The strumming of guitar strings and the steady beat of a drum fill the space around them, enveloping their forms in their own little bubble, their own place in time and space. It’s the perfect reprieve from the last six months of havoc and chaos. 

_ And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. _ _   
_ _ Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years? _

Josie leads with surprising grace until they’re swaying in slow circles, lost in thought, lost to each other, lyrics resonating far beyond the mesh of retro yellow speakers. 

She smells like old books and the sweet, flowery perfume Yaz had gifted her a few days prior. To the dark-haired woman, she smells like home. Eager for closer contact, Yaz rests her head against the junction between her shoulder and neck, breathing her in anew. There’s a freckle just below her pulse point which earns the brush of full lips before she settles against her again, her heartbeat in Yaz’s ears a slow song of its own. 

_ Can I go where you go?  
_ _ Can we always be this close, forever and ever? _

“Never had you down as a romantic,” Yaz murmurs against her shoulder, teasing but enamoured. They move together as one, the length of their forms nestled against each other. 

When Josie doesn’t reply right away, Yaz laughs against her neck. “Wren gave you this idea, again, didn’t she?”

“Perhaps,” Josie replies bashfully, and Yaz  _ knows _ her nose has scrunched in embarrassment before she lifts her head to spot it. 

“She’s going to break so many hearts when she’s older,” Yaz muffles through laughter, using the arm draped around her neck to toy with the ends of her hair. 

“Ugh, don’t even  _ start,”  _ Josie sighs wistfully, lifting a hand to rest against the side of her neck. Her other hand remains at her waist, guiding their slow movements. “Can you  _ imagine —  _ that confidence  _ plus _ hormones? And boyfriends? Girlfriends? Oh my  _ God.” _

The faux-panic painting Josie’s features only works to make Yaz laugh harder, triggering Josie’s own amusement within seconds. “At least, for now, she’s still our sweetheart — sorry, yours? Ours? Is that too much?”

Josie lifts her eyes to meet momentarily startled brown irises, and after a moment’s thought, she offers up a small shrug and a trusting smile, as if it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. She knows Yaz loves her daughter, and she’s proven she’ll do anything to protect her. They’ve been building towards these blurred pages for some time, and now’s a good a time as any. “Ours sounds good. If — if that’s cool with you? No pressure. She adores you either way.”

“You’re serious?” Yaz whispers, overwhelmed by the unwavering faith Josie places in her each time a milestone in their relationship crops up. She’s buzzing with adrenaline, fingers curling into the collar of her girlfriend’s shirt. 

The music changes to something a little dreamier, a little more intimate, but it fades to the background when Josie slips her hand along Yaz’s neck to her cheek, every bit as giddy as the dark-haired woman she calls her girlfriend. She nods silently. 

_ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real, _

_ Touch me with a kiss, _

_ Feel me on your lips. _

The lyrics hang between them like a ticking time bomb, even as Josie dances her thumb along Yaz’s bottom lip, then tips her chin up gently. Foreheads resting together, she sighs into the kiss Yaz grants her. 

As usual, Yaz allows Josie to set the pace and take the lead. She’s a little more confident this time, more assured, her hands more explorative when they slip into Yaz’s back pockets and draw her closer. Yaz tilts her head, humming in approval when Josie deepens the kiss and heat boils to a slow simmer in the pit of her stomach. 

_ 'Cause this is where I wanna be,  
_ _ Where it's so sweet and heavenly. _

Josie kisses her like it’s the last time she’ll ever be this close, love and adoration overpowering the desire already present in the way she moves, the way she sighs against her. 

Breathless and flushed, they pull back, exhaling unevenly into the gap between their lips. 

“Come to bed?” Josie whispers hoarsely, swallowing thickly in the way she usually does when she’s nervous. It’s been months since their first encounter, and still, Josie keeps her safety blanket in place, worshipping Yaz’s form while she hides her own behind a thin t-shirt or vest. She’s debating, perhaps, peeling the barrier away and delving right into the deep end.

Yaz can sense her anxious energy from a mile off, reaching for her hands. She kisses each knuckle in turn before she meets her gaze again, and in that time, she’s calmed noticeably. “Of course. You okay?”

“More than okay,” Josie murmurs shyly, giddily, melting under her affections. “I think — I think I'm ready.” She meets Yaz’s gaze in silent determination. When her girlfriend looks a little clueless, Josie curls her fingers around the buttons of her floral blouse, starting at the top. She unbuttons the first few, pausing when the other woman inhales sharply. 

Yaz stops her hands in their mission, wetting her lips as she admires the sudden flush to Josie’s chest. A hint of dark green lace peeks out from beneath her blouse, hugging small swells. She’d planned for this. “Please. Let’s — let’s go to bed so I can do this properly?” 

Nodding swiftly, high on nervous excitement, Josie leads the way. She hadn’t expected such a reaction, her cheeks and neck burning. When they step over the threshold into her room, Josie pads over to the bed with a noticeable sway to her slim hips, laying back and propping herself up on her elbows. She shoots Yaz a ‘come hither’ look, a shy smirk twitching at her lips. 

When Yaz pads over as though stalking her prey, Josie quells a shiver, toes curling in her fluffy polka-dot socks. 

Climbing onto the bed to straddle her hips, Yaz leans in to kiss her girlfriend with all the reassurance and trust she can muster, fingertips dancing along the material of her top. 

Josie responds in kind, arching ever so slightly into her touch. When she captures Yaz’s bottom lip between her teeth, giving a teasing suck, Yaz pulls back a touch, breaths coming out a little shorter. She sits up, meeting Josie’s gaze when her fingertips linger over the next button of her blouse. “Are you sure? There’s no pressure, babe, you know that.”

“I don’t think I've ever been surer,” Josie sighs when Yaz brushes her fingertips over the exposed skin already on offer, shooting her a look so hungry it sends heat flooding to her core in an instant. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Yaz murmurs gently, waiting until Josie offers a shy nod before continuing the work she’d started. She slowly unbuttons the rest of her blouse, giving her ample time to pause her movements. When she’s finally revealed, green lace hugging small breasts and a soft tummy blemished delicately with faint white lines — the evidence of precious life bared through compassion and love — Yaz sighs her name in a way which makes Josie’s thighs press together desperately. “ _ Josie —  _ you’re so beautiful.”

Once she’s slipped the garment from her shoulders and cast it aside carelessly, Josie bites into her bottom lip, shy and soft and delightedly flushed. “You really mean that?” she asks with an audible gulp, glancing down at herself briefly. “You think — you think I'm beautiful?” The compliment sits hard on her chest, denying her instinct to reach up and cover her midsection its power. 

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” Yaz admits gently, reaching out to let her hands explore. Before they settle against her skin, however, she meets her gaze again. “Is it — is it alright if I touch you?” 

“God,  _ yes,” _ she pauses. “But perhaps we should even out the clothing situation first?” she adds, Yaz’s words nudging her confidence levels a little higher. She reaches for the hem of Yaz’s top, wetting her lips in anticipation, like an animal awaiting the smooth capture of its prey. When Yaz nods, she peals the item of clothing over a toned stomach and delicate curves. Natural curls tumble back over her shoulders once she’s freed, and Josie is suddenly reminded of a renaissance painting she’d seen during an art trip at university. She’s mesmerised — It’s as though every time she gets to see Yaz like this is the first time all over again.

“My eyes are up here, babe,” Yaz teases when Josie’s gaze all but burns into the faintly defined surface of her midsection. She leans in to prop herself up on her elbows once more, resting them either side of Josie’s head. When she leans in to kiss her neck, the feeling of skin on skin, even if it’s just their bare waists, is dizzying — they’re barely undressed and Yaz is already reeling at the prospect of even more contact. 

“Yaz,” Josie sighs when she treats her pulse point to the light graze of teeth and a teasing suck, curling her fingers around strong shoulders to drag her nails over her skin. She lets out a sharp gasp when Yaz soothes the mark she’d made with her tongue, wet warmth only adding to the way she burns beneath the surface. 

“Mm?” Yaz hums in question, trailing her kisses down to prominent collarbones and, slowly, tentatively, along the edges of her bra. 

“You can — you can take it off,” Josie whispers, barely audible, carding her fingers through Yaz’s hair in a slow caress if only to keep her from seeing the way they tremble. 

Yaz can sense it, though, finding her hand and curling their fingers together. “Are you sure?”

A swift nod follows, and Josie arches her back, reaching beneath with her free hand to unclasp and peel away the garment. 

In the meantime, Yaz litters her neck and jaw with doting kisses. When she pecks her nose, Josie laughs, eyes creasing in the corners. It’s enough to relieve her nerves so Yaz continues, pressing a flurry of affectionate kisses to her face. 

“Yaz!” Josie giggles, tossing her bra aside just so she can reach up and nudge her away playfully. 

Yaz muffles her laughter against Josie’s cheek, soft puffs of air melting against her earlobe, and Josie doesn’t think she’s felt this happy and contented in a long while. 

When Yaz pulls back, gaze burning into newly revealed flesh, she gasps softly. “Josie, — you’re  _ beautiful.  _ Bloody hell.” She leans in, receiving a little nod just before a warm hand explores. She ducks her head, then, following a faint white tiger stripe along her breast with her lips and earning a breathy sigh for her efforts. In the process, she spots dark ink set against the creamy skin just below. In swirling calligraphy, six numbers paint the underside of her right breast —  _ 24\. 12. 15.  _ Alongside the digits is a small, delicate sketch of a bird, which Yaz can instantly decipher as a wren. “This is gorgeous, Josie. You never told me you had this.”

Josie glances down in shy affection, cheeks pinkening. “Thought it might be a little too sappy,” she breathes on a laugh, cupping Yaz’s cheek. “C’mere.”

When Yaz kisses her, it’s with a whole wave of renewed respect. She dances her fingers over her chest, tracing sensitive lines while her tongue explores. Josie bites into her bottom lip, then sucks gently, eliciting the sudden pressure of hips against her own. 

“I love these,” Yaz hums when they break away, breathless and dizzy. She motions to the stretchmarks coating her chest and hips with jagged channels. She watches as Josie’s features visibly soften, anxiety giving way to love and lust. “And I love you.”

“Now who’s the sappy one?” Josie teases, but the affection dancing in green pools shows her words have stuck with her, embedding themselves over the doubts and worries previously clouding her thoughts. “I love you too,” she adds, because she does — a whole lot more every day, too. 

“Let me worship you,” Yaz purrs, striking a match in Josie’s core which has the rest of their clothing discarded within minutes. 

Josie squirms against the sheets the second Yaz’s lips make contact with the receptive marks puckering her skin into gentle streams, arching her chest and tipping her head back. She bunches the sheets in one hand while the other tangles back through Yaz’s hair. “God, you’re so good.”

Need coils her stomach muscles taught when Yaz fumbles with the waistband of her bottoms, slipping the material smoothly over her hips. Ahead of the game, she drags her underwear down with them, her own following to pool at their bedside. 

Josie reaches up to caress Yaz’s chest through her bra, then works to discard the garment entirely until finally, dizzyingly, their bare chests brush for the first time. “ _ Yaz,”  _ she whimpers, overwhelmed with the sensations now turning her to putty beneath Yaz’s touch. “I need you.”

With a gentle kiss to the tattoo painting Josie’s flushed skin, Yaz shifts, settling on her stomach between her legs. Her tongue swipes across a jagged line strewn across the curve of her hip while she slips a hand along her thigh and into slick heat. “You’re so ready for me, babe. You’re so good,” she purrs, lips closing in on her skin to selfishly make claim to it for herself. 

Yaz watches Josie’s features shift when she begins dancing her fingertips in slow circles over her clit, her head tipping back with a guttural moan. When the sight is too much for her to take in without the risk of combusting entirely, Yaz moves to straddle her thigh, mouth latching onto her chest to swirl and flick her tongue over stiffened peaks. 

“God, that feels good,” Josie sighs, dragging her fingers down Yaz’s back while she worships her body like some kind of ancient succubus, each lap of her tongue and press of her fingers sending little pulses towards the surging fire between her legs. “Why did I wait so — ah — so long?”

“All the more worth it now, I bet,” Yaz hums, but the sight of her sucking an engorged nipple between full lips is too much. Her hips jump, nudging her digits further between her legs. Her thighs part, encouraging a soft whine from Yaz when toned muscles press between her own legs where she’s straddling her. 

“More, please, Yaz,” Josie whimpers, high-pitched and needy. When Yaz sinks a digit easily past welcoming warmth, Josie sinks into the mattress as though assuaging a craving. A satisfied moan falls past bee-stung lips as her girlfriend starts up a slow rhythm of thrusts, her thumb grazing her clit with each movement. “Mm— just like that — ah —  _ perfect.” _

Yaz tries desperately hard to quell how much her words affect her, opting to grind her hips against her thigh to help unwind the coil in her gut. 

She uses the rhythm of her hips to assist with her thrusts, only adding a second digit when Josie practically begs her to. 

“ _ Yaz,”  _ Josie whimpers out when Yaz returns her attention to her chest again, circling her nipple with her tongue until she’s oversensitive and quivering beneath her: until a series of huffs and sighs and whines are the only language she can communicate. 

Like a wave, Josie’s pleasure builds and builds until she crashes ashore with a cry of Yaz’s name, euphoria flooding her system. Stars blind her vision for a few moments while Yaz ducks between her legs, getting a taste of her while she’s still lost in the abyss. Her orgasm is drawn out for as long as possible, gentle caresses of her clit and happy laps at her core leaving Yaz desperate for the release she’d been on the verge on. For now, though, she shuffles up, legs entangled with Josie’s, and peppers each stretchmark she finds on her way up with gentle, affectionate kisses. 

They’re silent reminders of a small miracle, and Yaz would be stupid to think of them as anything else. 

“You’re brilliant,” Josie purrs once Yaz reaches her lips, words slurred and sated. She walks her fingertips up and down her spine, ghosting over the lines she’d carved with her fingernails seconds previous. 

“You’re not too bad, either,” Yaz shrugs teasingly, sighing when Josie ducks her head to press a kiss to her pulse point. When her girlfriend moves to slip a hand between her legs, Yaz stops her with a gentle hum. “Hey, hey, relax, babe. I can — I can just —” She shifts pointedly, moving her hips in a slow grind against Josie’s thigh. 

The blonde can only watch on, murmuring words of encouragement as Yaz builds herself back up to the edge with a few well-angled rolls of her hips. Josie tenses her thigh with each motion, reaching out to caress and tease her chest. She alternates between toying at engorged buds and gracing her toned stomach with her nails. 

“I’m so — I'm so close, Josie,” Yaz moans, chest heaving, hips undulating, Josie’s thigh slick between her legs. 

Gazing on as the muscles of Yaz’s stomach clench and twist, revealing her toned body in all its glory, arousal burns to life again in Josie’s core — a forest fire catching alight once more under midday heat. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this, Yaz,” Josie purrs, tilting her head curiously before she drags her nails over her chest, catching on her sensitive peaks. The action elicits a guttural groan. “Let go for me,” she encourages, “I’ve got you.”

That’s all it takes for Yaz to crash and burn against her, riding herself through her release with a series of high-pitched whimpers of her name. She slumps forward with a groan as aftershocks twitch and jerk her hips, catching herself before she settles against her girlfriend’s chest. 

“Brilliant,” Josie sighs the repeated word against the top of her head, carding her fingers through Yaz’s hair and lightly scratching at her scalp. 

Yaz pants softly against Josie’s chest, her heartbeat helping to calm her own racing pulse. “You don’t say.”

Ten minutes later, under the hot spray of the shower, Josie sinks to her knees to return Yaz’s mind-numbing worship. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
“What if they don’t like me?” Josie frets at the doorstep of the Khan family flat, a bouquet of flowers in her hand while Wren holds onto a box of chocolates at her side — she couldn’t decide between them, so she’d bought both in pure fear. 

Yaz takes her girlfriend’s hand in her own, offering up a slightly amused smile at the absolutely helpless look in Josie’s eyes. It breaks into something a little more reassuring when Josie fixes her with a warning pout. “Babe, please. It’ll be fine, okay? I'll be here the whole time, and they really aren’t as scary as you think.” She lifts her hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’ve got this.  _ We’ve _ got this.”

Wren takes Josie’s hand while Yaz steps ahead, twisting her key in the lock and opening the door to her old home. Najia and Hakim are exchanging quiet words when they make their way into the kitchen. Hakim looks a little scolded, to say the least. “Hey Mum, Dad, sorry we’re a bit late! I had some extra work to catch up on.”

“Hi, Yaz’s mum!” Josie approaches with faux-confidence, hesitating before she gives Najia a hug in sheer panic. When she pulls back, she hands over the bouquet with a bubbly smile. 

“Please, call me Najia. And it’s lovely to finally meet you,” she gives Yaz a pointed look, but it’s mostly teasing. She accepts the flowers with a grateful, albeit surprised smile. “And this must be Wren?”

The four year old steps forward shyly, holding the chocolates aloft. “Hi! These are for you — mummy thought I’d eat them on the way here, but I didn’t!” 

“Oh, thank you!” Najia beams, suddenly realising how Yaz had found herself attached to the little girl so easily. She sinks down to her level while Josie makes her introductions to Hakim, motioning to the plaid petticoat customised to her petite form. “I love your dress, by the way. It’s beautiful.”

Wren rocks on her toes shyly, but as soon as Yaz brushes her hand over the top of her head where her hair is neatly plaited, she relaxes. Najia notices the second-nature way she goes about the movement with interest. “Thanks. I really like it too! Mummy made it for me.”

“She’s clearly a talented woman,” Najia notes in pleasant surprise, then nods to the box of chocolates while the others have turned away. She lowers her voice to a conspiring whisper. “Hakim managed to burn the food we had planned for this evening, so we’re going to have to order takeaway, but it’ll be a little while — you fancy a secret chocolate while they’re not looking?” 

Wren giggles mischievously, glancing over her shoulder before she turns back in glee. “Yes please, Najia.” 

Dinner — or… takeaway pizza, for that matter, goes as smoothly as possible, mostly down to Wren’s unwavering charm. She’s perched in Yaz’s lap by the end of the night, biting into her last slice of pizza while Yaz re-does her now dishevelled plaits — Hakim had decided to start a tickle fight at one point, leaving a writhing, giggling Wren to burrow into the sofa in order to escape, hence the state of her blonde locks.

Josie sits at her side, encouraging Najia and Hakim’s retelling of stories from Yaz’s childhood. 

“Did she tell you she knows every word to all the  _ Spice Girls _ songs?”

“ _ Dad,  _ don’t you _ dare,”  _ Yaz counters before Hakim can continue, leaving Josie to laugh into her cup of tea. 

“Please, tell me more,” Josie argues, another flurry of laughter filling the room when Yaz turns to glare at her girlfriend. 

“I came here for a nice family dinner, not to get ganged up on!” Yaz frowns, finishing up Wren’s plaits. She tightens a bobble around the second one to secure it in place, then pats her shoulders gently. “All done, sweetheart.”

Reaching behind her to run her fingers over her hair in approval, Wren leans back into Yaz’s chest. Yaz curls her arms around her middle on instinct, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. She almost misses the next words to leave the little girl’s lips, but she doesn’t miss the multiple shocked gazes sent in her direction straight after.

“Thanks, Mum,” Wren had murmured, quiet, grateful,  _ hopeful _ . 

Yaz doesn’t realise she’s crying until moisture pools at the corner of her nose, then tumbles clumsily down to her lips and chin. “ _ Wren,”  _ she whispers, catching the four year old’s attention in an instant. 

Wren turns, offering up a gasp when she notices Yaz’s trembling bottom lip and the affection dancing in her brown irises. Her face falls, open, curious eyes now only displaying guilt. “Did I make you cry? Why are you crying?”

Josie reaches out to rest a hand against Yaz’s back in quiet comfort, but she leaves her daughter to talk her through it, to take this moment and make it their own while the other three of them simply bear witness. 

Yaz thinks she hears a sniffle from the chair her mother has settled in. She cups Wren’s cheek, catching her gaze, imploring her to see sense, to let her know she hadn’t just dreamed those whispered words up. “Hey, hey, you haven’t upset me. They’re happy tears, Wren. You remember what those are, right?”

“Yeah!” Wren tilts her head into her palm, patient, suddenly wiser than any adult Yaz has ever known. “But — can I still call you Mum? Because —” she pauses, taking a deep breath, as though ready to reel off a lengthy speech, “ — because I really want you to be my mum, Yaz. Please?”

“Of  _ course _ you can, sweetheart,” Yaz beams, her smile a little watery. “I’d  _ love _ to be your mum — I mean,” she falters, “ — as long as that’s okay with you?” she turns to Josie, suddenly a little fearful. When she only receives kind, loving green eyes in response, she relaxes. 

“We might’ve already discussed it, babe,” Josie admits bashfully, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “So, you up for the challenge?”

Yaz blinks back the tears which threaten to further blur her vision, not hesitating to nod swiftly. “Yes.”

Gleefully, Wren springs into her arms, tackling her back into the sofa with a round of delighted giggles and cries. Once Yaz has wiped her cheeks clean and taken a few calming breaths, she meets her parent’s gazes from across the room. Najia swipes a hand under her eye to brush away a stray tear, and Yaz softens. 

“I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Hakim announces, standing from his seat to draw his daughter into a hug she accepts instantly. He all but radiates pride. 

“Does that mean we get to eat those chocolates now?” Wren quips, blasé and unperturbed by such a significant moment in the lives of those around her. When Josie shoots her a look of both amusement and exasperation, she throws her arms in the air. “What did I do?”

When laughter fills the room once more, Yaz takes a moment to sit back and take in the sight of her family interacting with its new additions as though they’ve been part of her life for years. She’s accepted a role, a duty, a whole new responsibility, and while it should be daunting, she’s never felt so lucky. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! feedback is always appreciated if u have the time!!!


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